The Legend of Dovahkiin
by Nommy
Summary: Fehn, an ex Imperial soldier is thrust into the land of Skyrim in her darkest hour. Dragons befoul the skies. Fehn must align herself with the rebels and push back the Legion while keeping her own head above water. Love & adventure awaits. Main/Stormcloak/Dark Brotherhood & Companions questlines, with a bit of branching. **Expect a re-write soon, polish it up a little.**
1. A Paraded Execution

Chapter I A Paraded Execution

"W-where are they taking us?"

"...I don't know...but...Sovngarde awaits."

"No! That's impossible, I'm...I'm not..."

"Shut up back there!"

Fehn's head was ringing. She could hear the sound of rushing water and agitated birds chirping, but the most prominent and rude noise was the wooden wheels of the cart josteling along the uneven mountain path. Cracking open one of her dark eyes, her gaze fell silently on a fair haired Nord man. Keeping her peace, she watched him. He was donned in Stormcloak livery and his hands were bound, restraining his muscular arms. Quietly still she watched as he conversed with a smaller man. The smaller one had a more gaunt appearance. His face was contorted in fear, ringing his hands nervously in their binds. His shaggy brown hair was pulled back behind his ears revealing an open - if not dirty - face. His little mouth was set like a trap as he eyed the Nord who asked him thickly,

"Where are you from, horse-thief?"

The thief's brow furrowed at the question. Fehn guessed the Nord was trying to be sentimental and keep the little fool quiet. She watched as the thief's eyes roamed the floor of the cart, he replied a little shakily.

"Rorikstead...I-I'm from Rorikstead."

The Nord nodded and bowed his head.

"Why?"

Asked the thief curtly.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

Lowering her gaze, Fehn felt a pang of homesickness. She was no Nord and hadn't even meant to be in this mess. It was that damned Maro's fault. If he hadn't of caught her...With a sigh, she relented in her harsh thoughts. There was no use crying over spilt milk. It was obvious from the moment she defended that Jarl, what was his name? Ulfric? She hadn't even recognised the cad when she had strewn her sword arm out between him and the Imperials - her brethren. She was pulled back to reality by a pair of dark blue eyes gazing at her.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

Returning her attention to the Nord, she blinked slowly. Remaining silent, he continued in a curiously friendly tone.

"You were caught trying to cross the border, yes?"

Fehn nodded mutely. She had already gotten herself into enough trouble conversing with these Nords. The thief piped up, addressing her,

"You! You and I, we shouldn't be here!"

She agreed.

"It's these damned Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

Again, she concurred.

"Everything was fine until you all showed up! Empire was nice and lazy."

Couldn't argue with that.

The Nord chuckled at the thief's vehemence. Returning his attention to her, he looked over Fehn again. She averted her gaze and allowed him to continue staring, he was obviously coming to the realisation that she was an Imperial, and that even her status as such was no cause for sparing of the noose.

"Wait, I know you..."

He began. Fehn shook her head,

"You're mistaken."

Was all she said, as the thief continued his hateful barrage of the Stormcloaks. She noticed the Nord didn't take his eyes off of her while the thief lamented at his difortune.

"...Could have been half-way to Hammerfell by now! What's wrong with him?"

"Hey! Watch your tongue, that's Ulfric Stormcloak. High King of Skyrim!"

The thief snapped his head around to glare at the fourth passenger in their cart. Fehn followed their gaze and stared blandly at Ulfric Stormcloak. He was gagged and seemed to be very disheartened. Turning his head away, he refused to meet the thief's accusing glare. Fehn was trying to resist the urge to throw her bound hands around his neck and strangle him with the rope which had them all. With a sigh, she looked away as the thief began to panic pathetically.

"Ulfric? Jarl of Windhelm? Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

The Nord man kept his own gaze locked on the road.

"Like I said, I don't know. Sovngarde awaits, horse thief."

Fehn scoffed softly, warranting the three of them to look in her direction. She refused to meet any of their eyes, instead keeping her own gaze fixed on the gates which welcomed them to Helgen. She could feel the binds on her wrists beginning to burn as the cold bit into her skin, mixed with the constant jolting, the rope was really starting to hurt her. Grimacing slightly, she tried to stretch her back, but she was coiled so tight - like a bowstring over strung - she had been hunching herself over to fight back the frost which seemed to bury itself deep inside her very bones. Shivering in her homespun tunic, Fehn watched as they drew closer and closer to Helgen.

"There's that damned General Tullius, we must be deemed important spectating if that milk-drinker's here to watch over us."

Said the Nord as the cart slowly minced past the Imperial general. Fehn locked eyes with him. His tanned skin was even more so in comparison to his almost white surroundings. His hair was even more gray than she remembered it to be back in Cyrodiil. These Nords must be keeping him busy, she thought coolly as she wheeled past him.

"Helgen. This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here..."

The Nord mused as the villagers all milled out of their quaint little cottages to see the condemned on their final journey. Fehn wondered if they would be allowed a final sip of wine before their demise, her throat was parched after the long journey. She brushed the thought away after she remembered just who was in the cart. There was no way they would allow Ulfric Stormcloak any pleasantry, she guessed that they would just want to kill him quickly to end the conflict which had been ravaging the land for so long. More horses hooves joined the din, looking back, she saw that Tullius had joined their train and was trotting along behind them - no doubt he would perform some sort of speech before overseeing their execution.

"W-why have we stopped?"

The thief enquired with tears in his eyes. The Nord replied coldly,

"Why do you think? End of the line."

Turning to her, he said with a ghost of a smile on his face,

"Come on, don't want to keep the gods waiting."

With that, he stood up behind the thief. Ulfric jumped down first, landing nimbly on his feet. A suppressed grunt could be heard from behind his gag. Next the thief, who landed flat on his chest. The Imperial guards tutted and roughly hauled him to his wandering feet.

"Get up!"

The Nord man was quick to follow, like his liege, he landed just as easily and stood proud and ready. Fehn was last to get off the cart. Standing next to the Nord, she hoped that her shivering would not be mistaken for cowardice before the mass of people who had come to watch her die.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!"

Called one of the guards.

"Empire loves their damn lists!"

The Nord exclaimed under his breath as the Jarl moved forward with a curt nod.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric."

"Lokir of Rorikstead!"

Lokir - the thief - moved forward, protesting loudly.

"Wait, we're not rebels!"

He shouted, tossing his head back to Fehn.

"Y-You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!"

Springing forward, Lokir ran towards the road. The Legate turned and shouted loudly,

"Halt! Archers!"

Lokir retorted, his back to them as he ran for freedom.

"You're not gonna' kill me!"

He was proven wrong swiftly as an Imperial arrow embedded itself in his back. Fehn sighed, even though she could never commend cowardice - she did feel pity for the pathetic thief. Returning to the business at hand, the guards called out the Nord man,

"Ralof of Riverwood!"

Throwing her a confidant look, he winked and walked forward. She envied him, she envied his confidence in his gods and reassurance of eternal dancing and dining in Sovngarde. Wherever that may be.

"Wait, who are you? Step forward."

Keeping her expression as bland as a fish on a chopping board, she stepped forward. She was painfully aware of everyone watching her. The man with the list - and a very thick Nord accent - looked at her quite puzzled. Taking in the dusky colour of her skin, her raven black hair and equally dark eyes, he came to the conclusion she was obviously no Nord, but an Imperial. Shaking his head, he repeated,

"Who are you?"

Fehn was about to answer, but she was beaten to it by a familiar voice.

"Fehn Anonamy."

At the mention of her name, Fehn turned to the speaker. General Tullius was standing before her, his ruby livery vivid and his expression almost pained. She shirked internally. Tullius had known her from her time as a Imperial soldier in Cyrodiil, she had admired this man back then. Keeping her gaze steady, she acknowledged him gruffly,

"General."

Shaking his snowy head, he frowned.

"I heard of what you did. I heard of your mutiny, throwing your lot in with these fools...It's a sad thing when one with such prospects turns to villainy and becomes a rogue. I pity the memory of your parents, Fehn. They would be disappointed in the path you have walked. But now that path has come to an end, and you will die with your new traitorous friends, these Stormcloaks. Legate, do what you will with the Renegade."

With that, he turned his back on her. Walking over to the stalls, he stood before his prisoners and waited to see what the Legate would deem adequate for her. The Nord with the list turned to the smaller woman, her own armour blinding in the wintery sun.

"Captain, what should we do with her? She's not on the list."

The Legate looked at her with something close to utter disdain. Fehn returned the look and knew exactly what was coming.

"List or no list, she goes to the block."

Fehn's eyes burned into her back as she left to stand by Tullius' side. The man with the list looked upon her with pity, and said calmly.

"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil. Please, follow the Captain."

So that was it. She was to die with the rebels even though she had basically had nothing to do with them. Although she had just witnessed another man's misfortune first hand, Fehn still couldn't believe the lot she had been cast by the gods. Trudging behind the Captain, she stopped beside one of her Stormcloak "friends". Gazing around her, she saw Tullius making his way towards Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some men call you a hero, but a hero does not use a power such as the Voice to murder their High King. You are a traitor and condemned to die, may your death bring around the peace which this land so desperately craves, and may you find forgiveness from the gods for your folly. Legate, proceed."

Fehn could see Ulfric's hands knotting into fists as the general spoke. It was a commending little speech, one filled with forgiveness and pity, but she knew that it must have hit home to the Jarl. It was either him or Tullius that had to die to end the conflict and even she could see Tullius' smug disposition towards the Jarl. However, this had nothing to with her - well, she knew that, sad that the man who was to hack off her head did not. The priestess stood before them and began to chant some non-sensible drivel about sending their souls to whichever god they or the Nords were allowed to worship these days, Fehn rolled her eyes and shifted her weight on to her left leg. She was ready now, she didn't care what awaited, she just wanted to get it over with. Apparently she was not the only one, as one of the Stormcloak rebels barged past the priestess and declared rudely,

"For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with!"

The priestess stopped her infernal chanting and said a little jilted,

"As you wish."

Fehn watched as the burly man made his way to the block. He was helped along by the little Legate as she placed an armoured foot on his back. A smile curled along Fehn's lips as she thought of the Legate's stature, her joy warranted some ill looks from the other prisoners and guards alike. They must have thought her quite mad or brave laughing in the face of her fate, or a cunning sadist laughing at the fate of the Stormcloak who now had his head on the block. It was over in with one swift swing and an explosion of crimson as the Stormcloak's body went limp and fell to one side. Fehn's eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit her. She was afraid now. Though not outwardly, she could feel fear twisting at her stomach.

"As fearless in death as he was in life..."

Suddenly a noise emerged from over the mountain. A long rippling sound which seemed to shake the very bones of everyone who was in earshot.

"What was that?"

Asked on of the guards shakily. The general shook his head, waving the noise away,

"It's nothing. Continue."

The little Legate nodded, and let go of her sword's pommel.

"Yes, general. Next, the Renegade from Cyrodiil."

It was like a death lottery, which she had won. Now was the hour of her death, in this cold forsaken wasteland amongst "friends". She could have laughed at the state her life had become in no less than a week. Before all this she was a respected soldier in the Imperial army, now she was a condemned traitor, in a burlap tunic, half-naked before all these spectators being ordered to her death by a little yappy skeever. Before she could take a step, another roar engulfed the skies. They all took their eyes to the skies, but it was empty of all things.

"I said, next prisoner!"

With one final look at the sky, Fehn returned her eyes forward and started towards the blood-stained block.


	2. Choosing

Chapter II - Choosing

The chilly northern wind clung to Fehn's skin like an embrace from an ice wraith. Shivering before the block, she eyed the stained piece of wood. So this was it. A rough hand gripped her shoulder and thrust her down on to her knees scraping them. Gritting her teeth, she pushed back a little, reluctant to put her head on the block. She could feel that rising panic, it was the same panic that gripped her in the marsh when she knew that she had no where to run, that they had finally caught her. Throwing an enraged glare to Ulfric Stormcloak, she narrowed her eyes at the gagged Jarl. She prayed to the gods that he knew it was him that she thanked for her fate. Him and his wretched Stormcloaks. Unsurprisingly he looked away, turning his face from her.

"You Imperial bastards!"

Came a cry from the villagers. Fehn felt little comfort as she was promptly kicked in the back by iron boots. Fehn let out a grunt as her head smacked down on the frozen wood - the blood from the previous execution was as cold as ice against her cheek.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

She wondered about protesting her innocence. A vision of poor Lokir entered her mind. Innocence was not an adequate defence these days, and who was to say that she did not deserve to be beheaded a hundred times over? Not now, though. Not like this, surely?

Blood trickled down the palms of her hands mingling with the clammy sweat which had built up. Her nails had dug straight through the flesh, biting like the axe which hovered above her neck, making her hair stand on end. The sunlight blinded her momentarily only to be blocked by the fat executioner who raised his axe above his head ready to deliver the killing blow. Squeezing her dark eyes shut, she waited to hear the whistle of the falling axe.

"YOL!"

The world began to shake. Her ears were ringing violently. Snapping open her eyes, her hysterical gaze fell on a terrifyingly marvellous sight. A dragon roosted atop the small tower of Helgen, his mighty wings spread out like two great scar-ridden leather tapestries, it was a fascinating sight, but not one she could savour as it unleashed a terrible roar unto them again. The blue air smashed into her, knocking her backwards and the executioner tumbled onto her. Kicking at his head, she managed to slap his helmet off with her foot and knock him out. Scrambling to get on her feet, Fehn's eyes darted around for the dragon.

"Hey you! Imperial! Come on, come on! The gods won't give us another chance! Move!"

Turning her attention to the some-what familiar voice, she saw the Nord man - Ralof. He was beckoning her with his hands, his shouts unintelligible. She felt deaf, disorientated as the dragon unleashed another one of it's mighty roars.

"YOL!"

"For the love of Talos!"

Exclaimed the Nord and ran towards her,

"Over here, Imperial!"

Grabbing her arm, he half-lead, half-dragged her over to the small keep where he had been beckoning her from. Throwing her more roughly than he intended, she fell to her knees on the floor of the keep. Gasping for breath, she took in her surroundings as her vision flickered. She wondered if any of the others had heard the dragon's roars as loud as she. It was like it was clamouring within her head. She was shaken out of her reverie by the voices of the escapee's.

"Ulfric, was that a dragon? Like in the legends?"

Fehn turned to stare at Ulfric as he shot her a swift glance. He was not gagged now, his hands unbound. He was strangely calm,

"Legends don't burn down villages."

Snatching breath into her deprived lungs, Fehn breathed - though not to anyone in particular,

"Yes they do..."

Both men eyed her, both thinking that she must have just been suffering shock. Ulfric clapped Ralof on the shoulders, glowering at him directly, his eyes fierce, he said with authority,

"Alright, we have to get out of here, Ralof, take her and get to the top of the keep and make your way over to the next building over!"

Ralof nodded and bent down to retrieve Fehn who was still writhing from the noise of the dragon. Slinging one of her arms over his strong shoulders, Ralof helped her up the stairs.

"Wait!"

Fehn's eyes were as wide as silver plates.

"No! No! Don't, d-don't go up there!"

Ralof shot her a confused look,

"What? Why?"

Shaking her head, Fehn dug her heels into the stone steps. Dragging him down to his knees, she clapped her hands over her ears.

"He shouts! He's shouting so loud!"

"YOL!"

Ralof watched as the wall blew in from the dragon's inconsolable rage. Gripping Fehn by the wrist, he tried to stop her hysteria.

"Calm down! Calm down! He's gone!"

He was right. After blowing the wall in, the dragon disengaged and continued to ravage the rest of the village. Snatching at the chances the gods were bestowing, Ralof bundled up Fehn and pulled her over to the large gaping hole the dragon had made. Fehn watched astounded and terrified as the dragon's flames consumed Helgen. Trying to focus on what Ralof was telling her, she swallowed and tried to calm herself. He had her by the waist, keeping her upright, his other hand was pointing down to the next building.

"You see the next house over? Yes? Come on, Imperial! Yes?"

She nodded, dazed.

"Alright. Jump over and try and roll forward, so's not to hurt yourself."

Seeing her trepidation, he tutted and grasped one of her trembling shoulders.

"We'll follow when we can!"

Something about these Nords just struck with her as honest. She believed him. Nodding to him mutely, Ralof smiled and nodded back.

"Alright, go!"

With that, she launched herself over the small chasm. She landed with a cry of pain as she struck the tables and chairs as she crashed into the abandoned house. Collecting herself, she dropped down a trap door and landed nimbly enough on the ground floor. I have to get out of here! She thought frantically as she kicked into a run. The flames were lapping up everything in sight and the smoke was blocking any kind of clear view. Fehn cursed to herself as she ran blindly threw the smoke.

"Ah!"

She cried in pain as she felt someone crash into her, knocking the wind from her.

"What the...?"

Using her hands to clear the smoke a little, she was surprised to see a little boy cleaving to her around her waist. Tears were streaming down his face and he was shaking violently. Fehn felt her heart lurch, the last time she had seen a child in such a state was because of her own doing. Shaking herself free of the memories of the past, she grabbed the boy and made a run for the keep on the other side of the village.

"Come on, boy. Keep up!"

There was another roar somewhere in the village which elicited another cry from the boy. Fehn suppressed her own rising panic at the creature's terrible blood curdling shouts. Rounding the corner of a flaming house, the boy screamed as the dragon flew overhead. Holding him close, Fehn watched as the dragon unleashed more of the flames from it's belly and flew on over. Shaking the boy, they pressed on through the village. Imperial soldiers had began a tirade against the beast and were firing arrows at it. Fehn gnashed her teeth at her bound hands, losing grip of the boy, she threw him forward towards an elder man who was cowering in an alcove.

"For all that is holy, look after this boy!"

"Hadvar!"

Cried the old man. Fehn cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Hadvar? What is that a Nord term or some..."

She stopped when she noticed the Nord man in Imperial livery. He was the one who was holding the list. He was covered in grime and has his weapon unsheathed. He was holding the sword completely the wrong way, Fehn noticed and swiftly came to the conclusion that the man had probably never seen real combat in his life. Well that's just wonderful. She thought acidly.

"Still alive prisoner? Come with me if you want to stay that way!"

Fehn shook her head, her hair swished around her face as she held out her hands.

"Cut me loose!"

Hadvar frowned as a large piece of timber came tumbling down behind him. Shaking his head, he had a puzzled expression on his face. Fehn bared her teeth and shouted louder,

"Cut me LOOSE!"

Instead Hadvar nodded and ran off,

"Follow me, prisoner, and keep close to the wall!"

Fehn watched him go astonished. What a simpleton. Casting a confused gaze over the boy and the old man. He shrugged.

"Good luck?"

With that, she was off following Hadvar. It seemed the dragon was getting tired of attacking from the air and instead was landing on the ground and using it's long and spiky tail to cause as much chaos as possible. Dodging the debris of various houses and falling boulders, Fehn tried to keep as close to Hadvar as possible. Losing her footing, she tumbled down onto her chest. Her hands trapped beneath her. The ground shook beneath her body as the dragon landed before her. His beady eyes glared down at her almost intelligently. Keeping his gaze steadfast, Fehn couldn't take her eyes off of him.

Die.

The voice was so angry and so filled with insatiable hatred for her, she outwardly flinched. She watched as the dragon inhaled deeply, ready to blast her into Oblivion when a well timed and well aimed arrow pierced his eye causing him to screech and reel backwards violently. Gasping, Fehn watched as the dragon took flight and devoured the soldier who fired at him. At the dragon's leave, Fehn saw Hadvar standing where the dragon had been,

"Come on, get up!"

Getting to her feet, she ambled up clumsily after him. Finally they reached the other keep. A large courtyard spanned out before them. Hadvar stopped dead in his tracks - which caused Fehn to slump into the back of him. His face was ravaged by anger as he caught sight of an old friend,

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Stop right there!"

Ralof turned and snarled at the legionary Nord.

"Hadvar, give it up. You're not going to stop us escaping!"

Fehn watched the fight go out of Hadvar, but his disdain remained absolute,

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you wall to Sovngarde! Come on, prisoner, with me!"

Loping forward, Hadvar barged past Ralof. Catching her eye, he motioned for Fehn to follow him into the keep. It was a make or break moment. She could return to the Legion, be counted among the army again, she could appeal her case to Tullius. Surely he would let her live after this day? Then again, after everything she had already been through - which he apparently heard of - he didn't seem to mind her getting her head slashed off. The Stormcloaks might not like Imperials, but she would have to trust this man, and would follow him into the keep. Even if she was a Legionnaire or not.


	3. Escape to Riverwood

Chapter III - Escape to Riverwood

Ralof entered the keep first - with Fehn following warily behind. She had heard of these Stormcloak rebels. She had heard of their brutality to anything other than Nords. Keeping her distance, she watched as he bent down and checked one of his fallen comrades for signs of life at the other side of the room. Fehn was most acutely aware that her hands were still bound and that if this Stormcloak made to attack her, she'd be at a disadvantage. Silently she crouched down and kept herself poised for an attack. Her eyes never leaving Ralof. With a sigh, the Nord shook his head and in a whispered prayer, commended the fallen Stormcloak's soul to Sovngarde. Getting to his feet, Ralof turned and said in an exasperated voice,

"Can you believe it? A dragon! A real dragon! Just like in the children's tales of old! I never thought I'd live to see a dragon fly over the top of my head...What are you doing?"

Fehn's eyes widened as she realized how foolish she must have looked.

"Uh..."

Ralof smiled and produced a dagger from his belt. At Fehn's agitated response, she shook his head and sheathed the blade.

"No, no. It's not what you think. Come here, and let me undo those binds."

Fehn cocked an eyebrow at him. Of course if he was going to kill her, he probably would have done it by now, obviously she was in no position to fight with no hands and no armor, but a hard graft in exile would make even the most open person wary - and Fehn was a little paranoid at the best of times. With a little frown, she took a step forward, but shirked back when Ralof moved forward. He laughed at her, a jolly bubbly sound,

"Ha! Girl, you are like a foal. I am not going to harm you - you have my word. Now, come here. Those binds won't cut themselves."

At that she moved forward cautiously. Taking her little hands in his large calloused ones, he unsheathed the knife and began to saw through the ropes. It only took a moment and Fehn was rubbing her wrists to try and relieve some of the pain from the rope burn.

"Thank you."

She said shortly. Ralof shrugged and said equally as shortly,

"No problem. Here, put on that armour of my comrade's there. Remember, there's no shame in picking up your fallen shield-brothers axe. Now, snap to it!"

Fehn eyed him quite blankly. Moving towards the Stormcloak, she removed his cuirass, boots, gloves and axe. Turning on her heel, she gasped to find Ralof standing there.

"E-excuse me?"

The blond man shrugged,

"What? Oh! Oh, right! Right. Ha, sorry about that. I'll just go and look for a way out over here, but be quick!"

Fehn sighed at the density of the men in these lands - and that all of them seemed to have a Nord accent. She donned the cuirass quickly, and threw on the gloves and boots. Giving the axe an experimental swing, Ralof turned to her and asked,

"Ah, you look good. Are you good with an axe?"

Shaking her head, Fehn returned the axe to it's place on her belt,

"I'm adequate, more of a sword woman myself."

Ralof nodded, his arms were folded across his chest. Shrugging, he said cheerfully,

"Well no matter. If you kill an Imperial I suppose you could just take his sword. That axe looks a bit big for a girl anyway."

She was about to protest when she registered the playful expression on his face. With another cheeky wink, he motioned for them to be off.

Nodding, she started towards the rough wooden door. Ralof grunted and pulled on the door, shaking his head, he sighed,

"It's no use, we'll need the key."

With that, he scratched his gruff chin and began moaning about not having any lock picks. Fehn was standing watch by the keep's main door, her ears pricked for anything which sounded even remotely Imperial. Suddenly the sound of wood being scraped across stone alerted Fehn. Throwing a hard look at Ralof, he nodded his head and crouched down next to her. Fehn's eyes narrowed as she heard the familiar voice of the Legate which had tried to execute her. She gripped her axe as Ralof hissed,

"Imperials! Get ready to put that axe to use."

Keeping her gaze locked forward Fehn could feel her palms getting sleek at the sound of the Imperial's armour clanking along. At the first flash of iron Fehn sprang forward unleashing a bellowing battle-cry as she did. Ralof followed suit, swinging his axe down on the Imperial soldiers. Fehn swung around and saw that the Legate had detached herself from the fighting and was poised with her sword in the air, ready to bring it down on Ralof's head. Barrelling herself towards the Legate, Fehn smashed through her block and laid into her with her shoulder, knocking the Legate back and bruising her collar bone in the process. The Legate landed with a metallic crash as she grunted, her face was a picture of pain as she tried to clumsily get to her feet. She only managed to get to her knees when she noticed Fehn standing before her, an axe in one hand and her sword in another. In one fluid movement the Legate was decapitated. Ralof smashed the hilt of his axe into the helmet of the last remaining soldier, throwing him aside, his eyes fell on the scene. Blood covered his face, the crimson liquid vandalized his fair beard. With a curt nod, he said,

"Fitting."

Blinking, Fehn turned to him and nodded back,

"I thought so."

With that Ralof started rummaging around the Legate's now headless body for the key to the keep. Fehn was quite unseeing to this however, merely gazing at the bloodstained sword in her hand. It was of Imperial make, and felt familiar in her hand. She wondered for a moment if she had made the right choice in following Ralof into the keep. Shaking her head, she scolded herself for allowing herself to be brought down by doubt. She had made her decision, she would deal with whatever consequences that followed. Turning on her heel, she walked over to the dead Stormcloak's body. Placing his axe on his chest, Ralof watched curiously as the Imperial took her discarded tunic and placed it over his face. Fehn closed her eyes for a moment before unfolding her legs and turning to Ralof. The Nord held up the key and stated,

"Alright, we have the key. Stay close and kill any Imperial you see."

Fehn agreed and followed him through the now opened door. They made their way down a flight of stairs, Fehn was at the rear of their small companionship, keeping an eye out for their backs. Reaching the bottom of the spiral, Ralof stretched his arm out, motioning for them to stop.

"Shh! You hear that?"

Fehn strained her ears, she couldn't hear anything. Shrugging, she shook her head at him. He gave her a lop-sided smile and nodded,

"Exactly. You're not freaking out anymore, and the Dragon's not roaring either...You think he's gone?"

Fehn had forgotten about the Dragon, and his revolting cries which rang out in her head, haunting her mind. She wished that Ralof hadn't motioned it now as she could feel the fear of the great beast writhing around in her belly. She almost vomited at the memory. Seeing her sickened look, Ralof reached out and placed a large hand on her shoulder,

"I'm sorry for mentioning it. You know, I always forget that you're a civilian and not battle-hardened."

There was no disrespect in his voice, but Fehn could have laughed at his assumption. She was indeed battle-hardened, but she was not partial to this land, it's inhabitants, both Nord and Dragon confused her greatly. Finding a smile for the man, she shook her head and answered rather slightly,

"It's alright, don't worry about me. I'm sure I'm learning along the way."

She could see his confusion at her answer. He shrugged none-the-less and replied,

"That I am too. You have a good sword-arm. Anyway, we should press on."

Removing his hand from her shoulder, they made their way through the passageway and down another dimly lit stairwell. Fehn stopped in her tracks at the sound of commotion at the bottom of the stairs. Ralof exclaimed,

"By Ysmir! It's a torture chamber down there! Come on!"

Sprinting down the remaining stairs, Fehn caught up to him quickly. Ambling into the chamber, she was horrified to see charred humans lying limp in cages held aloft by chains. Coughing up bile, she had to recover quickly as a necromancer launched a frost bolt at her. Dodging the spell, she wiped her mouth and drew her sword. The necromancer gnashed his teeth and her and hurled another frost bolt. It grazed past her head and smashed into her shoulder. Letting out a cry, she gripped her wounded shoulder. Tears pricked her eyes as the cold bit into her bones and froze her blood. The necromancer smiled smugly and prepared another spell. Taking his disengagement into account, Fehn hauled herself to her feet and threw herself at the necromancer. Barraging him with the hilt of her sword, she smacked into his hooded head with the sword, bludgeoning him into submission. Finally the Imperial necromancer stopped flailing his arms and legs about and went limp. Fehn was unsure if he was knocked out or dead. Not taking any chances, she gripped his head and jaw and snapped his neck with a sickening crunch. Still straddled on his limp body, she sat back and took a breath, her shoulder's pained and slumped.

"Damn faithless Imperial!"

Gasping she felt the tip of a sword pressed against her throat. Raising her head, she gazed calmly at the Stormcloak who had her at sword-point. He was an older grizzled man. Baring his teeth at her, he added pressure to her neck, the blade bit into her flesh a little causing a thin line of blood to trickle down her throat.

"What comrade of mine's neck did you snap to get that armour, Imperial?"

Fehn was about to say something when she saw an axe plant itself next to the Stormcloak's own neck. Ralof stood behind him, his face seemed very different when he was angry. Fehn watched as Ralof ordered in an undertone,

"Stand down, soldier. This one's with me."

Releasing her from sword-point, the Stormcloak turned and eyed Ralof.

"By order of Ulfric Stormcloak, I was ordered to save this girl. So you watch yourself now."

The Stormcloak's eyes widened,

"Ulfric?"

Turning his eyes back onto her, he frowned. Pointing at her, he demanded,

"Why would Ulfric want to save a damned Imperial? This sounds like Imperial deceit to me!"

Ralof sighed and shook his head,

"I don't know, but I'll follow my orders to the letter. Please, brother. I don't want to have to kill a fellow Nord and Stormcloak."

Finally the grizzled man relented and nodded his snowy head. Turning back to her, he hissed darkly,

"You're a lucky girl, Imperial."

Ralof moved past the Stormcloak and offered a hand to Fehn. Grasping at it, he helped her to her feet.

"You alright?"

He enquired shortly. Fehn looked past him to the Stormcloak, keeping her dark gaze on him, she uttered,

"All things considering."

Satisfied, Ralof turned his attention back to the Stormcloak.

"Has Ulfric been down this way yet?"

The Stormcloak shook his head, spreading his hands out,

"I haven't seen him since that blasted Dragon showed up. I know Ulfric, he'll have managed to find a way to turn it to his advantage. He'll be fine. Anyway, how were you and the heathen planning on getting out of here?"

Fehn noticed that Ralof made no objection of her being branded a heathen. Of course these Nords are all the same at heart. She concluded coldly. Ralof pointed towards the passageway that led out of the torture chamber and down into the ancient caves beneath Helgen.

"Down that way. Follow us if you want, there may be more Imperial's nearby."

The Stormcloak nodded and responded,

"Or some fellow Stormcloaks."

Throwing her a scornful look, he said with disdain,

"Maybe we can bolster our party and trim some fat."

Barging past Ralof, Fehn took point and led them down the passageway. It was an uncomfortable journey down through the bowels of the keep. Fehn's blade was poised and ready for battle, she was so tightly strung, she would have turned on the Stormcloak who had been so rude before and stuck him like a pig. However, she held back her own feelings and pressed on. Finally they came across an opening. Crouching, Ralof made his way toward her and whispered,

"Alright, there's Imperial's patrolling in there. I think we're better off picking them off one by one with our bows than just barging in an..."

He was cut off by the Stormcloak's enraged battle cry.

"FOR SKYRIM!"

Ralof clicked his tongue, his brow furrowed in anger as the Stormcloak rushed past them and threw himself into a throng of Imperial's.

"So much for a clandestine fight."

Fehn noted quietly.

Ralof's expression, softened. Standing up straight, he motioned for her to watch his back as he engaged in the fight. Fehn followed Ralof as they crossed a flimsy wooden bridge. They spread out once on more solid footing. Fehn waited as an Imperial soldier ran for her, his blade flashed wickedly as he slashed at her belly and legs. Slapping his sword out of the way, she ran him through with her own blade. He gasped as his torso was pierced and lifted up, grimacing Fehn quickly pulled her sword free causing the Imperial to hit the ground with a wet slap. It wasn't long before it was over. Ralof was bent over, his hands on his was panting softly, blood was splashed over her face, her own blood mixing with the blood of her enemies. Placing a hand on Ralof's back, she asked if he was alright. He nodded, breathless. Getting himself upright, he looked around for the other Stormcloak. He was standing down on lower ground retrieving his sword from the body of a dead Imperial. Ralof stood at the ledge of the elevated ground,

"Are you alright, soldier?"

The Stormcloak looked up, his eyes bright and his face caked in blood. The bodies of three Imperials were strewn about around him.

"Aye! Always a great day when you can kill a bushel of traitors and not be able to retrieve your sword from between their ribcages!"

Ralof forced a smile for the Stormcloak's barbarism. Eyeing the Stormcloak's kill, he suggested,

"Will you not stay here and wait for Ulfric? He may still come down here yet, he will need an able companion such as yourself, shield-brother!"

The Nord Stormcloak laughed and exclaimed,

"Unlike the companion you have been cast I'd imagine, eh! Alright, brethren. I'll wait here for our High King. You be careful now, and don't lament too much if you were to lose that dog, you've been ordered to walk!"

Ralof nodded, turning to Fehn, he flinched as her back was to him. Even though he had no love for the Empire or Imperials, he did feel a morsel of pity for the girl, admittedly she must have felt very strange and friendless in Skyrim. Nudging her, he said in a friendly tone,

"Are you ready?"

Not looking at him, she merely stepped forward and walked through the cavern. They had another silent journey with Fehn leading the way. The caves were wet and dripping with slime and water. She wondered if the water was from a river or a manufactured dam. There had to be something propelling the water down for it to come so fast and loud, a dam or waterfall had to be the source. Stopping at the mouth of a large cavern, Fehn gaped. How could all this be under Helgen and not one person had thought to mine the ore, which was no doubt down here. Suddenly there was a hiss and Fehn was no longer wondering, she knew exactly why no one from Helgen came down here. A Frostbite Spider launched it's poisonous saliva at her striking her face. Momentarily blinded, she fell back and Ralof sprang forward and quickly disposed of the several spiders which had emerged from their hiding spots. Wiping her eyes, Fehn began to panic. Swinging her sword blindly, she felt the blade connect with flesh and a loud squealing sound as the spider recoiled at being struck.

"Alright, stop swinging! Stop swinging!"

Fehn stayed her blade and kept her eyes closed. She felt to large hands cup her face,

"Try and open your eyes. Open them so I can see them."

It stung worse than anything she could have ever imagined. Grimacing, she cracked open her dark brown eyes. Tears streamed out of them and she could barely make out Ralof's features he was so blurry.

"Oh, that's a nasty one. I must be nothing but a blur right now, yes?"

She nodded silently trying to bite back the urge to rub her eyes. Ralof clicked his tongue and rubbed them with his thumbs. Shaking his head,

"There's not much to do but wait until the blurriness ceases. You might be poisoned though...Alright come on, stay close and if you feel at all sick, tell me."

Again, she nodded and fell into a step behind Ralof as he lead them through remaining cavern. She felt disorientated, her head spinning. Feeling a little ashamed at her own stupidity at being half-blind and poisoned, she did not tell Ralof she felt sick. Walking along quietly, she gasped as she was pulled down to the ground by Ralof,

"Quiet, there's a bear! I'd rather not tangle with her right now - what with you being blind and all. Follow me and be as quiet as you possibly can, and we'll sneak past her."

With that, Ralof gripped her arm and silently pulled her along the damp floor of the cavern.

"Nearly there."

He reassured her. It felt like an eternity as they crawled along - like pitiful shadows. Suddenly, Ralof let out a sigh,

"That was close."

At that, Fehn released a breath she didn't even realize she was holding. Her vision had sharpened up a little, she managed to make out Ralof's concern etched across his face,

"How do you feel? You don't look so good, I think you might be sick..."

Fehn shook her head,

"No, no. I-I'm fine. All the better when I see the back of this place."

It wasn't enough to completely abolish the concern that played on his face, but he relented and continued through the seemingly never ending cave. Another silent ten minutes went by, Fehn started when Ralof exclaimed,

"There! There's the exit, I knew we'd make it! Come on, Imperial!"

He made a run for the brightly lit exit. Sunlight streamed through the gaping opening. Ralof helped Fehn out and squinted in the sun. Fehn could still feel hot tears on her cheeks. Wiping them away, she heard a roar somewhere off in the distance. Darting behind a large rock, she and Ralof watched the skies intently for the Dragon. Finally, the leviathan beast flew past and roared again before disappearing behind a mountain. Ralof sighed again,

"Thank the gods. There he goes."

Getting to his feet, he extended a hand to Fehn and helped her up. Together they walked down the slope which led away from the cave's entrance, Ralof turned to Fehn and mentioned,

"You know, my sister, Gerdur. She runs the mill in Riverwood. I'm sure she could help us. After all you've seen the true face of the Empire here today."

Fehn nodded,

"But is that safe?"

Ralof pondered the question, his brow knotted together in thought,

"Well of course it's not, but I can't see anywhere else to lay low for awhile. Maybe we should split up, we could meet up in Riverwood?"

Fehn's head was swimming, she hadn't even realized that they had stopped walking. The pain in her shoulder had subsided and all her aches and pains had seemed to have just disappeared. Smiling like a dullard at Ralof, she giggled,

"Yes, I-I'll meet you there...In Riften."

Ralof frowned,

"No, Riverwood."

"Rorikstead?"

Suddenly Fehn felt her legs buckle from under her. Slumping to her knees, she looked up at Ralof,

"I feel a bit sick now..."

With that, darkness consumed her as she closed her eyes and passed out.


	4. Nord Hospitality

Chapter IV - Nord Hospitality

"Alright...al-almost there. Just a...just a little further."

"I think I'll return home after the fete...Or go out and visit Jesmond..."

"That-that sounds great, gods for a small thing - you weigh a ton."

"I don't think I've ever managed to shoot the target, ma'am...Just the outer rings."

"Oh yes. Well, I should tell you, I'm no "ma'am". Gods knows a woman could not carry you unless she had Orc blood in her!"

"Maybe, Gaius could help me with my marksman skills...? No, he's never in a good mood. The sun's shining so bright today."

"That it is. We should get you poisoned more often, I've learned more about you now than I probably ever will, Imperial."

"I was born in Cyrodiil. My mother doesn't like that...But she says my father had such a handsome shade to him, she couldn't resist. I wish I was blond..."

It was such for most of their journey to Riverwood. Fehn continued to babble on non-sensibly while Ralof puffed along the road with her on his back. They had been trudging along for most of the day, Ralof was beginning to worry that the poison would seep in further and end up killing the girl. Being an Imperial she'd built up absolutely no tolerance to frostbite venom like most of the inhabitants of Skyrim. He just hoped that Gerdur would have a potion lying around that the Imperial could have - and a bed where he could finally set her down. Finally reaching the outskirts of Riverwood, Ralof decided to take a breather for a moment before lugging on. Setting her down gently against a tree trunk, his brow knitted together as he placed a large hand on her forehead. She was as cold as ice and sweating like she was back in Cyrodiil. Silently she opened her eyes, dark circles had formed underneath them in the short time from Helgen to Riverwood. Her gaze drifted past him as her head lolled to the side.

"D'you think we'll reach the Capital soon?"

Ralof smiled, and shook his head. He'd been talking to her like she hadn't been talking gibberish the whole journey - gods knows why, he thought. If she didn't get a cure in her soon, she'd slip away to Sovngarde. Still smiling, he responded kindly,

"We've changed our plans, we're going to Skyrim."

Fehn smiled weakly, her dark skin was turning a sickly shade of gray,

"Oh, wonderful! I-I think I know a lady from Skyrim. She's bigger than I, but much kinder...She gave me a-a..."

She frowned at a loss for words,

"She, uh, she gave me some wine...Or-or a wine-scented drink? Who knows? But it was still good...I wonder where she is now. Don't tell me she's dead!"

Ralof chuckled,

"No, she's not. Come on. We're going to see her right now. Hopefully for you, she's got another wine-scented drink."

Fehn nodded happily, pointing at the Nord, she said,

"You're a kind man. Thanks for taking me all this way. How will you get back to Riften?"

Shaking his head, he hoisted the delirious girl up onto his back.

"If you want, you can take my Jesmond. She's a fat old thing, but father says it's the only horse I can ride..."

Ralof nodded, content to just listen to her chatter on. It was a good distraction from his own fatigue. It was dusk by the time they had reached Riverwood. Making his way around his sister's mill, Ralof placed Fehn down behind a bunch of sawn logs.

"Alright, you stay here, and try not to move around and make too much noise. I'll be back in a minute."

Shaking her head, she grabbed his cuiross. Her grip weak, she babbled,

"You don't have to y'know...I did this. I betrayed my family. You don't have to leave Cyrodiil if you don't want to. If you leave now...I'll understand."

Patting her hand impatiently, he repeated,

"I'll be back in a minute. Just hang tight, and don't fall asleep!"

With that be bounded off to the front of the mill looking for his sister, while Fehn sat by the logs. Watching the golden sky slowly turn crimson, Fehn blinked slowly. Reaching over, she plucked a blade of grass from the earth and murmured,

"I could fight a horde of ant-bandits with you."

She chuckled at the thought. Suddenly a small pair of feet entered her field of vision. Looking up, her glazed eyes fell on a little boy. His blond hair was pulled back behind his ears and he had a red tunic on. Gasping, she exclaimed,

"By the gods! You've aged backwards! How'd you do it?"

The boy cocked an eyebrow at her and stepped back. Taking in her livery, he noted she was Stormcloak, but she didn't look like a Nord. She didn't look well either.

"Frodner!"

The boy spun on his heel at his name being called. Fehn watched uninterested as a well-built Nord woman ran towards the boy. Standing beside him, both before Fehn, she eyed the poor girl. Fehn on the other hand gasped again as her wandering eyes widened,

"You must be a shape shifter! H-how are you doing that? You're not going to harvest my organs are you? You don't want to look like me, I have a scar and I'm not blond...You-you both have nice blond hair. You should stay looking like that."

Ralof came and stood by his sister, Gerdur and his nephew, Frodner.

"See, I told you. It's a bad case of frostbite venom poisoning."

With that Gerdur clicked her tongue - which reminded Fehn of Ralof. Watching as the older woman knelt before her, she placed a dirty hand on her forehead,

"Yes, you're right, brother. Alright, come. Get her into the house. I have just the potion. You two can lay-up here for a while."

Ralof bowed his head and said thickly,

"Thank you, Gerdur. I-I hate to put your family in danger..."

She cut him off, getting to her feet and allowing Ralof to gingerly pick up Fehn.

"Nonsense. Anything I can do to help. You let me deal with the Imperials."

Fehn's eyes widened,

"Don't stew me...I-I'm not ready to be stewed..."

Gerdur tossed a confused look at Ralof - who shrugged in return. With a smile she turned to her boy and placed a hand lovingly on his head,

"Foreigners."

_**Die**_

Fehn struggled against the Dragon's claws as it scooped her up and looked at her with it's gem-like eyes. Crushing her, it screamed loudly. The blue air smashed into her again and again. Screaming in the darkness, she heard his rumbling voice in her head,

_**You will die.**_

Shaking her head, she bellowed at the crowned beast,

"No! No! Not me!"

Punching it's claws with her inferior fists, she watched horrified as the Dragon inhaled deeply and shouted, deafening her,

_**FUSROHDA!**_

With a gasp she threw herself forward. Grimacing in pain as she did, she turned to find her injured shoulder bound in linen and the cut on her neck the same. Rubbing at her eyes, she noted that her vision was better. She was no longer donned in the Stormcloak cuiross, instead, she wore a plain dress of blue. One of the arms had been ripped in order for the bindings on her shoulder to be more comfortably fitted. Taking in her surroundings, she realized that she was in a house. With her free hand, she massaged her temple, the memory of her nightmare ravaged her mind. That Dragon, she thought, What does he want with me? Removing the fur hide which kept her warm, she swung her legs out of the bed and sat at the edge. Suddenly she heard muted whispers from the next room. She recognized Ralof's voice in no time, but she was unsure of the others. The first speaker - a woman, asked Ralof quietly,

"And what of her? You're bound to get into some sort of trouble with a morsel like that, Ralof. You should have heard some of the things she was babbling about while she was out."

Ralof sighed and answered just as quietly,

"I know, Gerdur. But...I don't know. She's new to this land, and anyone can see she's no danger. In fact, while the Dragon laid waste to Helgen, she was more of a liability until it finally stopped roaring."

Another man interjected, his voice thick with a Nord's accent,

"Don't be fooled by a pretty face, Ralof. She may look innocent enough, but she's got the look of Cyrodiil about her. We're Nords, we don't affiliate with traitorous milk-drinkers who sell their souls to elves like common whores."

"Hod! Be still yourself. Not in front of Frodner!"

Fehn heard as Hod guffawed and addressed his boy,

"Frodner, go'n back there and check on your ma's patient. See if she's alright."

With that, Fehn scampered back into the bed and quickly pulled the hides over her. Closing her eyes, she feigned sleep. Hod continued in hushed tones,

"Alright, so say she isn't an Imperial spy, what was she doing at the border? It's not like Imperial's live poor. She couldn't have been escaping poverty, not like the poor sods in Windhelm."

Fehn heard Gerdur sigh and respond with a hint of pity in her voice,

"I heard her say something about running from the army. From the Legion, Hod. I don't think even she - being poisoned - could carry on acting if she were a spy. Not in that state. Poor, child."

Ralof added, quietly,

"And when we were on our way over here, she was mumbling about Cyrodiil, about the Commander Maro's son, Gaius Maro. She also said something about "betraying her family". Who knows, maybe she's a Stormcloak spy? Why else would she be getting executed by Legionares alongside Stormcloaks?"

Fehn listened carefully as Hod sighed. She heard a wooden spoon tap on a pot and Frodner's muffled steps towards her,

"I don't know, son. All me and your sister are saying is to be careful. Imperial's are small and cunning like foxes. You have to be extra wary around the likes of them. If you think you can trust her, be it on you if - and when - she double crosses you."

Making a scene of stirring for the boy. Fehn's eyes fluttered open. Frodner ran back through to the adults and exclaimed,

"Ma! Da! She's okay, she's waking up!"

Gerdur smiled - a healers smile. It was always good when a patient pulled through, no matter who they were. Getting to her feet, she shot Ralof a quick inquisitive glance as he made to get to his feet too.

"And where do you think you're going?"

With a blank expression, Ralof shrugged and motioned towards the back of the house,

"I was just coming along to check..."

Gerdur cut him off,

"Oh, no, no, no, no. She's an injured girl, Ralof. I can't have you hovering around while she's abed. It's rude, and not to mention embarrassing for the girl. You stay here. I will bring you news of her health."

Defeated, he stared blankly as his sister departed around the corner where Fehn was recovering. He felt Hod's burly hand come down on one of his shoulders.

"Haha, you are the very picture of a second-born! Come, have some mead with me out in the yard. I want to talk to you anyway."

With that, Hod grabbed two tankards from the cupboard and led his brother-in-law outside.

Sitting up, Fehn eyed the woman who came towards her. She was an older woman of her late thirties - although she still had a pretty and youthful looking face. It was only her haggard hands and worry-lines that gave away her age. At once Fehn could see the resemblance to Ralof, the blond hair and blue eyes were dead giveaways, but Fehn guessed that Gerdur was born with the brains. She smiled a little sheepishly, while Gerdur sat at the edge of the bed and inquired softly,

"Well, you're finally awake. How do you feel?"

Nodding, Fehn smiled and said,

"Much better, thank you for patching me up...You're Gerdur, right?"

The older woman's brow raised at the question,

"How do you know that?"

Fehn quickly responded,

"Ralof mentioned you at Helgen. He said you ran the mill, and that you were his sister...That's all I remember."

The Nord woman chuckled heartily and said,

"That's all you need to know. I run the mill with my husband, Hod. Ralof's my younger brother. I try and look out for him and his friends. He brought you here within an inch of your life. I hope you're feeling better."

Again, Fehn nodded. Cradling her wounded shoulder, she thanked Gerdur again. The woman eyed Fehn's shoulder and asked,

"Ralof said you were attacked by a dragon. But on your shoulder there I treated an ice wound, do dragons breathe ice instead of fire now?"

Fehn shook her head, wincing at the pain that rattled up her shoulder,

"No...I was attacked by a necromancer down in Helgen keep. I wasn't paying attention as I should have and he managed to hit me with one of his cowardly spells. I got him in the end though."

Gerdur laughed again,

"Well at least you bested the filthy mage in the end. My brother says you have a good sword-arm. I thought I might enlist that arm once you're feeling a little more up to it?"

Fehn frowned,

"What'd you have in mind?"

Gerdur raised her hand and pointed in the direction of north,

"I'll need someone to deliver a message to the Jarl in Whiterun. Don't want any dragon's attacking Riverwood. We don't even have a wall! The Jarl will need to know what happened in Helgen and send some guards down here to help us protect our families. Of course you are welcome to stay here until you are back on your feet."

Fehn nodded and accepted Gerdur's request.

"Excellent! Now, let me know if there's anything else I can get you."

At that, Fehn could feel hunger claw at her belly. She hadn't ate in at least three days. She asked timidly,

"I wonder if...If I might have something to eat?"

Gerdur smiled and placed her hands on her hips,

"Food for the hungry, mead for the thirsty. I'll bring you something through."


	5. To Whiterun

Chapter V - To Whiterun

Fehn was laid up for four days with Gerdur and her family. On the third day Ralof had departed to rejoin Ulfric Stormcloak in Windhelm and continue bringing the fight to the Empire. On their second night he came around the back of the house - which Gerdur had procured strictly off limits to he and Hod. Tapping on the side of the wall, he enquired,

"Are you decent?"

Groggily, she sat herself upright,

"Yes, come in. What is it?"

Standing at the bottom of the bed, she noted that he had traveling gear on and was holding a freshly packed satchel in his hand. For one crazy moment, she thought the satchel was for her and that he was here to bundle her up and either toss her out of Riverwood, or to apprehend her and take her to Whiterun. She was wrong on both accounts as he smiled and leaned against the chest that sat at the foot of her bed.

"Well, I have come to say my goodbye's. I'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow to regroup with Ulfric. I expect Gerdur will keep you for a little while yet until you are strong again."

She kept her face pensive, she didn't want to appear overly sentimental at his departure. The truth was, after hearing what Hod and Gerdur thought about her the previous night, she was at a loath to be with them without a bolster. Of course, she was grateful to Gerdur and her family, but Hod struck her as the type who would give her more trouble than she was duly worth. Her face must have betrayed her intentions, because Ralof said,

"Hey, don't look so down. I'm sure our paths will cross again. In fact, I'm certain of it."

Fehn frowned,

"Why is that?"

He chuckled and pointed to his Stormcloak cuiross,

"I think you're good Stormcloak material."

Her eyes widened, absent mindedly she massaged her wounded shoulder.

"You really think so?"

Ralof nodded,

"I do, yes. You don't have to be a Nord to fight for Skyrim, you know."

Lowering her gaze, she uttered,

"Even an Imperial?"

At that he frowned. Her eyes still downcast, she started when she looked up and Ralof was standing at the side of the bed, placing one of his hands on her head, his face very serious, he said,

"Especially an Imperial like yourself."

Fehn could only stare at him dumbfounded. He smiled. Turning away, he picked up his satchel which was sitting on the chest, hooking it over one of his shoulders, he removed some supplies from the chest. Fehn watched him as he threw some leather strips and stamina potions into his satchel. He closed the chest quietly before addressing her again,

"Well, this is goodbye - for now."

He added cheerfully. Fehn nodded, smiling at him weakly,

"Goodbye, Ralof."

He nodded and turned making his way back to the front of the house.

"Ralof?"

He stopped and turned,

"Yes?"

Keeping her eyes steady, she said with real sincerity,

"Thanks. Y'know...for all...this."

She said while motioning her good hand to the house and the bed. He smiled and bowed his head,

"It is an honor to help one who is so grateful. Be safe and don't let Hod push you around."

She smiled at that as he gave her a wry grin and disappeared around the corner.

On the third day, she was allowed out of bed to see Ralof off with Gerdur, Hod and their son, Frodner. She waved as he set off on his doppled gray mare out of Riverwood. Gerdur turned to her and led her back inside, motioning for her to sit at the rough dining table, she sent Hod out to the mill so she could remove the confining binds on Fehn's neck and shoulder in some privacy. Only Frodner was allowed to hang around - which didn't bother Fehn in the slightest. Frodner had sort of become her unofficial helper while she was recovering, he would retrieve things for her helpfully and sit at the bottom of her sickbed and tell her what the travelers who passed through the town were speaking of. From what she had garnered from Frodner's retellings were that the attack on Helgen had only publicly reached Riverwood two days after the attack had happened, and each traveler who had heard were not passing by Whiterun. Fehn felt a tight feeling in her stomach at that, she wanted nothing more than for her wounds to heal so she could be on her way and convince the Jarl to send some reinforcements down to Riverwood. Gerdur praised at how well her wounds had healed when she had finally removed the binds.

"Well look at that, Frodner. Your ma still has a healer's touch."

Frodner smiled up at his mother and then at Fehn,

"Ma's right. It looks way better, and you don't look so pale now."

Fehn smiled at him, nodding, she thanked him. Turning to Gerdur, she asked the most important question,

"Will I be fighting fit to be off tomorrow?"

The older woman was taken aback,

"Tomorrow? Well...we don't have any more horses, I wouldn't recommend you go gallivanting around the Hold...But if you are dead set, then I suppose you could go tomorrow. Normally I would insist you stay until you are fully recovered, but...I am becoming anxious for Riverwood's safety. Just last night, Sven - our bard - said his mother saw a dragon fly past the mountains the other day."

Fehn nodded. Then it was settled then. Grasping the now free shoulder, she gazed down at the red scar that had formed on her shoulder. It almost resembled a sunburst, the attack had obviously - and literally - splattered against her shoulder and had given her a scar which reminded her of Redguard warpaint. Gerdur saw her looking at the strangely shaped scar and her face was filled with pity,

"I'm sorry, I could only treat the physical flesh wound...I am not a magic user or I would have..."

She was cut off as Fehn shook her head,

"No, no. You have done enough, really. Thank you. Besides, Skyrim's people seem to admire feats in battle...Maybe this could be my badge to show that I'm not a complete, what do you call it? Milk-drinker?"

Gerdur laughed aloud, like Ralof's it was a cheerful bubbly sound which made anyone in earshot smile. The blond woman placed a hand on her tummy and continued to giggle,

"Well, you are certainly learning our ways at a fast rate. Yes, we Nord's praise our warriors. You, my girl are no milk-drinker. Had you been, I would never have opened my home to you. I doubt Ralof would have made such a fuss of ensuring your safety either."

Nodding, she placed a cool hand on the scar and said,

"Yes. I think people would think you a very wise warrior. It is better to be known to fight and be knocked down, than it is to sit on the edges and allow others to fall for you. I think even Hod would have to admire your character after that one, dear."

That night Fehn had a restless sleep. Tossing and turning, she dreamt of the Dragon again,

**_Fus_**

Approaching the creature, she asked steadily,

"What do you want?"

**_Roh_**

Losing her temper, she shook her head and drew her sword,

"Stop it! What is it that you want, you over-sized lizard?"

**_Da_**

With that, she struck at the dragon's chops as it snapped at her with it's powerful jaws. Rolling out of the way, she held her sword aloft and slashed down with all her might. Falling back, she looked at her hand, all she had in it was a pommel. Throwing a look to the Dragon, she saw that he had the blade sticking out of his head. A loud growl was all that she heard as his body began to glow, a swirl of light engulfed his scaly hide as she watched the light spill out of his body. Covering her eyes, she felt the light encase her too. With a cry, she felt as though it was wrenching her organs from inside her body. The last thing she heard was another growl as the Dragon closed his claw around her. In her cocoon of light and shadow, she heard the Dragon's dying growl,

**_Dovahkiin._**

Dawn broke on the fourth morning, golden and fresh. Fehn stepped out of Gerdur and Hod's house and stretched - her shoulder pained her a little at the movement. Breathing a sigh, she inhaled the freshness of the morning and enjoyed the quiet for a time. She was startled by the sound of the door opening,

"Ah, so today's the hour of your leaving. Good."

She turned to see Hod standing with his hands folded across his chest, his thick mustache was hooked over his lips which connected to a equally thick beard which hung over his muscled chest. Staring at his stern face, he cocked a bushy eyebrow at her and walked over to the fence. Leaning against it, he said, his back to her,

"When you get to Whiterun, tell the Jarl that we need men. We need men tonight, Imperial. I heard roaring over the western mountains last night. I don't want to have to defend my family with nothing but a bow and fresh air."

Fehn nodded and said respectfully,

"Yes, sir."

His back still to her, he asked,

"What will you do after that?"

Fehn smiled,

"Well I thought afterwards I might come back here and live with you and Gerdur."

He turned at that, his face a mixture of confusion and anger. Upon seeing her smile, he frowned deeply, making him look like an angry bear. Fehn sobered and leaned against the Fence,

"I don't know what I'll do. I haven't given it much thought, if I'm honest."

Hod retorted unkindly,

"Well give it some."

Fehn nodded, her face blank. She looked up at the sky which was just turning from orange to a pale duck egg blue,

"I will. On the road maybe. Ralof thought I should join the Stormcloaks..."

Hod let out a bark of laughter,

"And why would an Imperial fight to liberate Skyrim? What love do you hold for this land or her people?"

Turning to face him, her hand still resting on the fence. Fehn said,

"You and your family, sir. They've shown me nothing but kindness. More kindness than I ever got in Cyrodiil. My own kin tried to hack my head off in this land - but didn't thanks to a dragon which are native to Skyrim. I'd think I should be giving thanks to this land for all the luck its brought me. Even with your scorn, Hod I can tell you'd fight for Gerdur and Frodner. I can respect that"

Hod folded his arms again,

"And maybe if I fought, it'd change your opinion of me, sir."

She set off later than intended. Gerdur made a fuss of making her a large breakfast and checking her temperature relentlessly before she was pronounced fit to leave. Frodner walked her to the main exit of Riverwood as his parents had to be at the mill. Pointing her in the direction of Whiterun, he said,

"Mind for wolves too. They make dens up the top of slopes and run down to catch folk when they're not looking."

Fehn nodded and thanked him for the information. Shaking his little hand, she said her farewells. Before she took a step, she felt Frodner grip the back of her cuiross,

"Uh...here. Just for some luck. My ma gave it to me, but I don't think she'll mind."

Fehn looked down. In his hand was an amulet. Taking the piece of jewelry, Fehn admired it. Placing it around her neck, Frodner smiled,

"It might keep you safe."

Two hours into her journey, Fehn could feel her shoulder taxing on her strength. Rubbing the tender flesh, she cursed her own stupidity at being hit by that spell. Again. Squinting at a directional sign, she tutted and scraped the moss and dirt from it. Finally she managed to make out the name "Whiterun". With a nod, she muttered to herself,

"Good, I'm on the right track then."

She ploughed on for another hour, at about lunch time she settled down on a rock for a rest. Removing some bread from her pack, she ate quickly and quietly, washing it down with some wine. Getting to her feet, she gave her shoulder an experimental stretch, she smiled as it didn't pain her as much. Suddenly her ears pricked as she heard the sound of a wolf calling in the distance. Drawing her sword, she stalked slowly along the road - keeping her eyes on the slopes.

It wasn't long before a pack of snarling beasts were harrowing her from atop the slopes. Drool leaked from their chops as they ran frantically towards her. Kicking the first one that jumped at her, she spun around quickly and just managed to elbow the second which caused her shoulder to protest in pain. The third managed to land it's filthy paws on her chest and thrust her backwards, it's stinking drool landed heavily on her snarling face as she smacked it with the hilt of her blade. Barking and snapping, the whites of it's eyes flashed as it tried to devour her. Finally she managed to kick its belly causing it to yelp and fall back. Springing it her feet, she stabbed the third beast in the head and with a sickening crunch, it went down. Turning, she slashed at the other two. With a cry she brought her blade down squarely on one of the mongrel's snouts, with a yelp it was ended. Finally turning on the last, it snarled on her with it's hackles flailed. With a challenging bark it harried her. Using her forearm as a kind of make-shift shield, she repelled the beast while swinging her blade and severing it's two front legs. Grabbing at it's shaggy pelt, she grimaced as it yelped and whined in pain Taking her sword, she gutted it and ended it's misery. Catching her breath, she put her hands on her knees and breathed deeply.

"Citizen, what are you doing?"

The voice was sharp. Bolting upright, she grasped her sword. She recognized that accent. Turning on her heel, she looked at the speaker. Three Imperials stood at the foot of the slope, their leather and satin livery was as red as the wolf blood that caked her face. Her expression blank, she gabbled,

"Uhh...?"

One of the Imperial's rolled his eyes and turned to one of his fellow soldiers,

"Urgh. Another Nord dullard."

Relief spread throughout her chest. Sheathing her sword, she smiled vacantly at the men.

"Ya. I was joost huntang dese woolf fer me an' mine's dinnur."

With an impatient nod, the Imperial waved his hand,

"Yes, yes. Be about your business."

With that, they carried on along the road towards Riverwood. Fehn breathed a sigh of relief and gingerly stepped away from the wolf corpses. Getting back on the road, she made a note to keep an eye out for Imperial soldiers from then on. The rest of the day passed quite uneventful, she was happy that no more wolves showed up at least. It had just descended into dusk when she finally arrived at a small cottage known as Hanningbrew Meadery. A guard in Whiterun livery who was patrolling the road gave her a torch and directions to the city,

"Be on your guard."

He said in a dense Nord accent,

"There's giants roaming the Tundra to the west. Just stick to the road and you should be fine."

Keeping to the road, Fehn passed the meadery and the surrounding fields. She was startled by a din in one of the fields. Her eyes widened as they fell on a giant - a very angry giant - swinging a huge club at a man in armor. Without thinking, she immediately kicked into a run.

"Around him, Aela! Go around him!"

Fehn watched helplessly as the giant bellowed and slowly brought his club up above his head, the man in armor was right beneath the giant's huge club. Running towards him, she tackled him as the giant's club came down heavily. Embedding itself into the earth, it gave the armored man's comrade's a chance to quickly deal out death to the unsuspecting creature. The all whooped and congratulated eachother. Fehn grimaced as her shoulder screamed at the agony coursing through it. Her eyes squeezed shut, she didn't notice the gloved hand that was being offered to her.

"Thanks for the help, shield-sister."

Opening her eyes, she glanced up at armored man. His blue eyes were smeared with black warpaint and his dark hair was long and unkempt. Accepting his hand, she was hauled to her feet quickly. Losing her footing a little, she gasped as the man laughed,

"You should be happy! You helped take down a giant - sort of."

Fehn smiled weakly as he slapped her on the back - painfully. A woman in hunter's attire approached them, her pretty face was nearly obscured by green warpaint which resembled claw marks, her ice blue eyes bore into Fehn as she folded her arms and said with authority,

"Hmph. Not that she did much, shield-brother. She merely pushed you out of the way because your foolishness nearly got you squashed."

The man groaned,

"Yeah...I wasn't watching my footwork."

The huntress retorted,

"Well you should have! Come on. We'll return to the hall and you can train some more. Stranger, we'll take our leave. Good day."

Fehn watched as the band of warriors left.

"The Companions."

She was startled by the sound of the guard's voice behind her.

"They live up in Whiterun. In Jerrvoskar. They are great warriors and out for hire too."

Fehn nodded and enquired softly,

"Do they take new members d'you think?"

The guard snickered,

"You'd be so lucky whelp. Compared to a Nord woman, you have the body of a child. No. I don't think they'd take you, your sword arm's a little...short."

He laughed and turned away, leaving Fehn to stew.

"Yoor sword arrm's a little shoort!"

She mimicked blandly as she pressed on towards Whiterun. Passing the stables she made her way up the hill that the city was built on. Finally she made it to the gate, the sky was swelled with clouds as rain began to pour from the heavens,

"Halt! What is your business here, Imperial? City's closed due to the rumors about the dragons and so forth."

Fehn smiled pleasantly to the guard. He was a good two foot taller than her and brandishing a claymore. Nodding her head reassuringly, she said seriously,

"I'm here about the dragons. I was sent up here from Rverwood. I'm here to see your Jarl."

The guard nodded. Putting away his weapon, he softened.

"Alright, you can pass, but I've got my eyes on you, Imperial."

With his strong arms he pushed open the large wooden gates and the city of Whiterun was exposed to her. Taking a small tentative step forward, she felt the vastness of the city engulf her.


	6. Jarl Balgruuf The Greater

_Quick note: _Whoa, the response to this fic has been awesome! Thanks so much, guys. Also, thanks to people who pointed out my misspellings of certain names and places, fear not, I have Wiki at the ready from now on instead of relying on an incredibly bad memory. Anyway, just a lil' short chapter - the next being where the story kinda' kicks off and gets exciting. So, please, stop reading my crap, and read on, and thanks again.

- Nommy

Chapter VI - Jarl Balgruuf The Greater

_Her breath came out fast and short. Her feet ached, she had been running for so long. Through treacherous terrain, she gasped as she lost her footing and her leather boot became engulfed in mud. Swearing, she pulled her foot free at the expense of the boot. Kicking off the other one, she resumed the chase. Although lighter and more silent, the pain in her feet was now doubled with the loss of her boots. Tears were streaming down her cheeks from fatigue and blood caked her face and arms. Breathing in and out was now a labor on par with lifting rocks. Her neck was stiff from constantly looking over her shoulder. Her hair was matted from running, the wind whipping it up behind her like an ebony phantom as it escaped it's band long ago. Thighs screaming in pain, calves burning. She was utterly exhausted. She had to keep moving though, lest the Imperials catch her and end her life. Fehn refused to be caught. Panting her way through the thick marsh, her feet squelching along rudely, she stopped. It was silent. Ducking behind a dead, gray tree, she held her orcish sword close to her chest. Her gloved hand on the blade muffling it, another on the hilt, ready to swing it at any soldier. Breathing silently, she tried to pull as much air into her lungs and quietly as possible, digging her bare feet into the snow for some relief. Turning her head, sweat glistened along her scarred cheek. Blinking softly, her eyelashes swept some of the sweat from her eyelids. She listened. Listened like the condemned. Nothing. With that, her shoulders slumped. Bowing her head against the spine of the blade, she prayed to the eight divines. She prayed that they would just pass her by. However, like any prey she knew that was just wishful thinking. The hounds would always sniff out their quarry. Her own spine went as rigid as her blade as she heard their betraying footsteps coming loud and fast. Bounding into a run, she threw herself out from behind the tree. Taking another breath, she gripped her sword tightly. Loping through the wet environment, her breath was a plume of white air as it came harder and harder. Her throat was coarse and blinking so many tears away blurred her vision. If they did catch her surely the could commend her for her endurance. She had been running for three days and three nights. The only rests were those she could muster behind trees and in trees. Still running, she retrieved her last stamina potion from her pouch. Downing the concoction, she felt a rush of life course through her. Pushing herself harder, like a wild beast, she crashed through the tall grass and hopped over the shallow marshy ponds. The white mist that pervaded the marsh didn't help much, she was finding it even more difficult to see where she was going. The leafless trees helped her determine what time it was, but that was it. _

_Suddenly, like a knife in the belly, she fell forward on to her hands and knees and vomited. Spewing up mostly water and stamina potions, she suppressed a cough and choked as she balked. Unable to breathe, she felt her body tremble as she expelled more water. Shakily she wiped her mouth and stood up. Her eyes watered and tears slipped down her face again. Spitting out the rest of the vile mixture of bile and potion, she forced herself onwards. It was no use, even after hours upon hours of running, she couldn't out run an army. Coming to a halt, she bowed her head. Mist curled around her waist. Fighting back the urge to be sick again, she inhaled deeply trying to settle herself. Drawing her sword, she turned. Poised like a wildcat, eyes flared as mad as Sheogarath himself. She waited. Soon enough their shadows descend upon her. Crouching, sword in hand, she moved quietly towards the first shadow. Savagely she loped off the soldier's leg. With a blood curdling scream, he fell clutching the stump which spewed blood. Rolling behind another, she stuck him between the shoulder blades. Ripping her blade free, she felt his warm blood splatter on her face and shoulders. Still crouching, she eyed her next target, he was looking around frantically for her, but it was too late for him. It was even too late for her. Popping out of the mist caked in blood, she screamed a feral scream and severed his head from his body before he even knew what hit him. Even after her barbarous assault, she could hear more. They were still thundering after her, baying for her blood. Turning her face up to the white sky, little flakes of snow passed her as they sailed on the wind quite idly. She unleashed a savage and gleeful laugh. Laughing while the tears of true fatigue plunged down her face, she bared her teeth and laughed at her pursuers. Sheathing her blade, she bounded off into the mist. All the while her mad, forced laughter followed her just as they did._

"Stay out of trouble, Imperial."

Keeping her head low, she tried to blend in with the throng of merchants and traders who were holed up in the city while it was closed. Crossing over into the Plains District, Fehn could smell the various foods that the fat trader's wives were selling. Hollering prices and dishes at her, she smiled politely and refused to be drawn into a haggle. The air was thick with chatter, the rain fell heavily on the heads of all who dared to set foot outside. Slipping into an alcove, she rubbed her hands together to warm them. Wiping rain water and grime from her face, she felt Frodner's amulet as she brushed it with her fingertips. Gazing down at the golden cross, she twisted it so the light would catch it.

"Hey!"

She jumped as she felt someone grip her arm. Hard.

"Ow! What the...?"

The rude old lady's iron grip was unbreakable and her eyes were bright as they gazed at her amulet. Her old and haggard face cracked into a smile and she let go of Fehn's arm. Patting at the sore flesh, the woman made a sly apology,

"Oh, forgive me. Forgive me, dear. I meant no harm, but if I were you, I'd tuck that pretty piece under your tunic if you don't want to attract attention of the guards."

Fehn cocked an arched eyebrow at the taller woman, averting her gaze, she tucked the amulet under her tunic as the old woman suggested.

"There, happy? Why would a piece of jewelry attract the guards?"

The old woman cackled quietly and hushed the girl. Waving her clawed hands, she bared her filthy teeth,

"Well, aren't we new. Aren't we fresh. What you have there, girl is an amulet of Talos. We're not supposed to go worshippin' him no more. Put it away, put it away, and speak no more of it. If you value your head."

Fehn watched totally bewildered as the woman continued on her way. Shaking her head, she slumped out of the alcove and made her way up to Dragonsreach. Night was falling on Whiterun and her inhabitants were packing up their stalls and wares and returning to their homes for dinner and rest. Reaching the top of the steps, Fehn's eyes wandered up to the huge dragon skull which held together an arch made of a dragon's ribcage. She felt herself shudder under the dead dragon's bones. It reminded her of her dreams. Striding to the door, a guard nodded to her,

"Keep an eye on the sky, traveler."

Dragonsreach was a spacious hall. A rolling flight of stairs greeted Fehn as she opened the huge oak doors. Her feet sunk into the deep rugs - which after a long day's walk seemed utterly comfy. Taking a few steps towards the stairs, she turned her head and saw two children, one of them a boy and the other a girl, one of them, - the boy - eyed her with an aloof look on his face. Walking towards her with an almost mock swagger, he said grandly,

"Another wanderer come to like my father's boots. Good job."

Walking around her, she watched as he left through a side door. Shrugging off the boy's brashness, she began trodding the stairs. A huge roaring fire blazed in the middle of the main hall. Fehn picked out the Jarl immediately. He was seated on a golden throne - another dragon's skull was mounted above the throne. Upon her approach, she saw at once a dark elf woman brandish her sword and stalk towards her. Unsheathing her own blade, she stood at the ready.

"What's the meaning of this?"

The Dunmer hissed at Fehn. Gripping her sword, her knuckles were white. Fehn narrowed her eyes and sheathed her sword,

"I'm here to see the Jarl. It's important."

The elf scoffed,

"Anything important can be relayed to me, and I shall pass it on to the Jarl. He is not to be troubled by rabble."

Remaining diligent, Fehn pressed,

"I was told to deliver this message to the Jarl personally. To no one else."

The Dunmer took an antagonizing step forward, pointing her sword at Fehn, she said very low in a dangerous voice,

"Why? This is beginning to sound awfully suspicious to me..."

"Irileth! Enough. I want to hear what she has to say."

The elf turned and bowed to her liege. Sheathing her sword, she stood to the side and motioned impatiently for Fehn to proceed her.

"Go, and no sudden movements, whelp."

With a forced smirk, Fehn brushed past the fiery elf. Stepping around the large fire, avoiding the embers that lazily flicked out from the flames, she stood before the Jarl, Balgruuf the Greater. His blond hair was shoulder-length, on his head sat a golden circlet with stones of onyx and a large ruby as the main adornment. At his shoulders was a thick sandy pelt of fur - probably a saber cat's. His tunic was of black satin laced with cloth of gold, a leather belt with a large golden buckle trimmed his attire. At his hip was an iron war axe in an intricate little sheath of leather and cloth of gold. To Fehn he seemed very grand. Sitting quite plaintively, the Jarl waved her forward. Fehn took another step and stood before the Jarl nervously,

"What is it you have to say, girl?"

Hearing his native Nord accent, she relaxed a little. Standing a little more squarely, she said,

"I'm here about the dragons. Gerdur down in Riverwood bade me to ask you to send down some guards so that they may protect their village, families and livelihood."

The Jarl nodded,

"Gerdur? Yes, yes. I know who of whom you speak. Runs the mill? Pillar of the community?"

Fehn nodded at the description of the burly Nord woman,

"Not prone to flights of fancy is she?"

It sounded more of a rhetorical question, but Fehn shook her head all the same at the description of Gerdur. Jarl Balgruuf ran a contemplative hand down his long, plated beard. Turning back to her, he asked more kindly,

"Was there anything else you had to tell me?"

Fehn hesitated. She didn't want to remember Helgen. Mustering her courage, she confronted the memory,

"Yes. Helgen was attacked by a dragon."

The Jarl's eyes widened, he asked in a patronizing tone,

"Did one now? Are you sure it was a dragon and not some Stormcloak raid gone awry?"

Fehn averted her gaze for a moment. She didn't want to slander the Stormcloaks. Even though she held Ulfric responsible for her position in Skyrim at the moment, she still remembered that Ralof was in his army, Gerdur supported him too. Keeping her peace, she simply said,

"No it was a dragon. I had a lovely view while Imperial's were trying to cut off my head."

The Jarl cast a wry glance to the balding man on his left, Fehn also saw Irileth grasp the pommel of her sword. _So they don't support Ulfric_. She thought it odd that a Nord like Balgruuf would be an Imperialist. No matter to her of course, but still a surprise.

"Well you are certainly forthright about your criminal past aren't you, Imperial?"

Fehn said nothing while the Jarl turned to man on his left,

"That however is of no concern of mine. Who the Imperial's decide to condemn is up to them. What do you think of that, Proventus, dragon's returning to Skyrim?"

The Imperial man leaned forward, his hands behind his back. Fehn's eyes narrowed at the man, she noted the strong Imperial presence in Balgruuf's hold.

"I would say that it is highly impractical to believe this right off the bat. I do however think there is some credence to sending troops down to Riverwood."

The Jarl nodded and returned his attention to Fehn. Looking her over, she squirmed under his scrutiny, answering Proventus while his eyes remained on her, Balgruuf agreed,

"Yes. As do I. Irileth, go and send a missive to the barracks. Tell them to send some able men to Riverwood."

The elf nodded and threw a glare at Fehn, slapping her armored shoulder into Fehn's. Grimacing at the pain, Fehn felt like turning around and shoving the elf into the fire, but she simply frowned and massaged her pained shoulder. Balgruuf made a face,

"You'll have to excuse Irrileth, she's not one for trusting strangers openly. Now, I must thank you. You sought me out of your own initiative - this is good. I need as many people coming and informing me of dragons as I can possibly get. Come with me and we'll talk to my court wizard, he has been following up on these statements and rumors of dragons."

Slowly the Jarl stood up and nodded for her to join him.


	7. Whispering Walls

_Qiuck note: _Yer, 'tis a long one. Although this is where the story kicks off, again, forgive the length. Tehe, I don't think I've ever heard of a 5000+ word chapter *scratcheshead&drools* Oh well. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Chapter VII - The Whispering Walls

Following behind the Jarl, Fehn sighed. She was tired and her shoulder pained her. All she wanted to do was fall into bed, not swap words with a pompous court wizard. If court wizard's in Skyrim were anything like the ones in Cyrodiil she knew exactly what to expect.

"Ah, Jarl. What can I do for you?"

Fehn rolled her eyes as the snide wizard slumped around his alchemy table. He was a tall man; his lithe frame was draped in robes. He had a long down-turned mouth and big spoiled eyes. Fehn was reminded of a frog as she looked upon the wizard. Standing beside the Jarl, she shifted her weight and put a hand on her hip and listened to him,

"Farengar. I've brought you an assistant, one who can help you with this whole dragon business."

The wizard turned one of his froggy eyes on her and sniffed,

"Well, how able is she? No dis-respect, my Jarl, but she's rather...small."

The Jarl stifled a grin, and Fehn folded her arms.

"Oh, she's able. Now, please explain to her what it is you need doing."

Farengar bowed and said to Fehn,

"Yes. I do need an assistant. Well, more of a mercenary as such. I need someone to explore an ancient crypt and root around for an equally ancient stone tablet which may - or may not be - there."

Keeping her eyes on him, Fehn said pertly,

"Just tell me what I have to do."

Farengar scoffed and spread his arms,

"Your eagerness or brutishness proceeds you. Better to know what you're doing, get paid and be off, right?"

She remained silent. Clearing his throat, Farengar continued,

"Anyway, the crypt is located at Bleak Falls Barrow, just north of the village...Riverwood? Yes. Just north of Riverwood. If you go and retrieve the tablet it may give me some crucial information regarding the dragons, and a better means to understand them."

Fehn cocked an eyebrow,

"I thought you were looking for a means to destroy or defeat them?"

Farengar sniffed and glanced over to Balgruuf and frowned. The Jarl nodded and waved his hand impatiently, motioning the wizard to get on with it. Forcing a smile down on Fehn, he sniffed,

"Well, you see. To best an opponent one is better to understand them first. You see, I think it may be better for us to study the dragons as best we can. To learn about them, and discover a weakness. Understand?"

Fehn nodded and tucked her knuckles under her chin. Her frown deepened as she stared unblinkingly at the alchemy table. She commented in a mirthless voice,

"So, when I retrieve this tablet - if it's there, I should bring it back to you so you can...study? That's correct? So you can better understand dragons? Alright. So say that it's not there - like you said, it may not exist - what do we do then? If a dragon attacks, I presume that we would all lay down our weapons and start screaming in fear because we don't understand the dragon, what it's doing or how to defend ourselves?"

Staring up at him, she unfolded her knuckles and raised her eyebrows at the gaping wizard. The Jarl stifled another laugh as he watched the interplay between the two, Fehn added pleasantly,

"Well I just hope that this tablet does in fact exist, and that you do not in fact presume in the future, court wizard. I'll find your tablet for you."

With that she returned her gaze to Balgruuf. With a wink, he waved away Farengar's protests. Sobering, he said to her - a grin still played on his face,

"Alright. Bleak Falls Barrow. You go there and find this tablet. Real or not, it's our best hope of defending ourselves from these dragons or dragon. May the gods watch over your battles, friend. Remember, this is a priority now. We need to find out more before we mount a defense or offense. Now go. Make haste and don't fail me."

With a nod, Fehn turned on her heel and exited through the large entryway to the court wizard's alchemy lab. She shook her head at the arrogance of mages and Jarls in general. Clambering down the stairs, she found her hand creeping up to grasp her shoulder once again. Grimacing, she peered under her tunic at the binds which Gerdur had put on her before she left - merely as a barrier between wound and clothes. Fehn sighed as the binds were seeped in blood. It seemed the fight with the wolves and the journey, with Irileth's rough housing added had taxed heavily on the wound. A guard who saw her standing in the middle of the main entrance staring under her tunic cleared his throat,

"You look tired, friend. The Bannered Mare has warm beds and cold mead - you look like you could use both."

The Bannered Mare was a well-lit and cozy little inn. Poking her head around the big main door, Fehn heard an older Nord woman welcome her,

"Come in, come in. Here, have a seat by the fire. We've got food and drink for sale and beds to rent."

Taking a seat at the bar, Fehn rested her hands on the cool wood. Before her was the older Nord woman. She was sweeping the bar with a rag, her graying hair was pulled back to show an open typical Nord face. Angled features and full lips, she smiled at Fehn,

"What can I get for you?"

"A small ale, please."

She nodded,

"Of course. Coming right up."

She disappeared beneath the bar to retrieve a tankard; Fehn leaned over and watched her as she did. The woman reemerged with a tankard and a bottle of ale. Pouring the contents of the brown bottle into the tankard, she slid it towards Fehn and accepted her five coins. Sipping at the ale, Fehn felt a little better after the day's doings. Gazing over the rim of her tankard, she saw the inn keeper's eyes on her,

"You're not from around here are you?"

Finishing her mouthful of ale and placing the tankard down, Fehn shook her head.

"Uh, no. I-I'm from Cyrodiil."

The woman nodded and smiled a little thinly, extending a large but surprisingly smooth hand, she said warmly,

"I'm Hulda."

Taking the extended hand, Fehn smiled back,

"Fehn. Tell me, what's the news around Whiterun?"

Hulda snorted and resumed wiping the bar,

"News? The city has been shut off for the last four days! Not much news coming in or out. You're the biggest news I've heard since nigh a fortnight ago, and that's saying something. Whiterun's the heart of Skyrim. If you're wanting something local, I'll tell you this, "

Fehn nodded, leaning over her tankard, eagerly,

"The Companions, in Jorrvaskr? You've heard of them, right?"

Again, Fehn nodded.

"I hear they are taking new members. Maybe you should look into that. A wanderer like you - especially one so small must have been bein' looked after by Ysgramor."

Leaning back, Fehn pulled in her lips and averted her gaze. Taking another gulp of her ale, she asked,

"How long have you been running this inn?"

Sucking in her breath, Hulda gazed past her and moved her lips silently as she rounded up the years,

"Oh, I'd say around twenty and five years. I enjoy this work well enough, but I'm ready to retire. I have been thinking of selling the inn to Ysolda, she's an aspiring young girl. Reminds me of myself at her age."

She laughed and shook her head, as Fehn downed the last of her ale.

"I'd like to rent a room, if that's alright?"

The older woman stuffed the rag into the pouch in her dress and took the coins Fehn offered to her. Moving out from behind the bar, she said,

"Sure thing it's yours for a day."

Fehn thanked her and followed the woman as she lead her up to the second floor. Opening a set of double doors, the woman waved her inside. It was a spacious cozy room which overlooked the little mead hall that she had just been in. Hulda smiled as Fehn gazed around the room with a grin,

"Let me know if there's anything you need, child."

Fehn turned to her and waved her comment away,

"No, no. This will do perfectly. Thank you."

Hulda smiled and bowed her head. Closing the door, she retreated back downstairs. Removing her cuirass and boots, Fehn lay on the bed and let herself sink into the feather mattress. Her eyelids heavy and her shoulder throbbing, she could feel herself being lulled to sleep. From downstairs below in the mead hall she heard the bard strike a chord and begin a song,

"We drink to our youth, to days come and gone. For the age of aggression is just about done."

Smiling at the familiar melody, she was instantly reminded of home, and just as she slipped into slumber a tear crept out from under her eyelashes.

Grasping at the map, Fehn squinted from behind the rag she had wrapped around her head and face as a paltry barrier between her and the gales which blew along the cusp of the mountain. Just north of Riverwood. Just North! That lying bastard! I have a good mind to crack that blasted stone tablet - which may or may not be there - over his damned head! The journey had taken her on a more North-westerly route to Bleak Falls, needless to say, Fehn was furious. After heading north, it was only when she was face to face with a big immovable cliff face did she realize that Farengar had sent her in the wrong direction. Cursing her luck, she had to move around the cliff and try and not fall off the edge. Then to make matters worse, she ran into bandits. The only good thing about that encounter was that she managed to scavenge a map from one of their lifeless bodies. Digging her leather boots into the snow, she managed to hoist herself up a ledge and roll onto her back. Gasping, she exclaimed as the cold air seemed to cut into her throat. I hate snow. She thought bitterly. Rolling over onto her side, she squinted at a shadow in the distance. Suddenly an arrow was whizzing towards her, rolling back a little, she snapped her head down as it embedded itself into the snow next to her head. Jumping to her feet, she sought cover behind a large boulder which was jutting out of the snow.

Equipping the hunting bow Gerdur had given her; she nocked an arrow and took aim. She wasn't much of a shot, especially in weather conditions like the ones she was in, but drawing a breath, she focused. Releasing the iron arrow, she felt her hair shift as it panged out of her grip and shot through the air. She heard a cry of pain as the arrow struck her attacker in the chest. Breaking cover, she crouched and moved towards Bleak Falls Barrow.

"What was that?"

She heard one of the bandits cry out. Her eyes bulged from under her make-shift cowl. Nocking another arrow, she aimed again. Hearing the footsteps of the bandits grow louder as they approached, she let loose her arrow. It struck the first in the shoulder, causing her to reel back with a cry. The other harried her with his sword drawn. Brandishing her own, Fehn engaged him in a brief flurry before she managed to slice his belly open. He struck the ground, his blood staining the snow. Hopping over the dying bandit, she ran up the stairs to find the bandit she'd struck with the arrow crawling around the icy ground. Reaching for her dropped sword, the bandit cursed and ill-wished Fehn as she placed a foot on the sword. She was about to deal the final strike when the bandit produced a dagger from the inside of her fur armor. Slashing at Fehn's legs, she managed to nick her on the thigh. Letting out an enraged hiss, Fehn quickly took her sword and buried it in the bandit's chest. Gripping her injured thigh, Fehn grunted in pain and annoyance. Bandits everywhere in this land! It's a wonder there's enough people in Skyrim to be anything else! Choking down a healing potion, Fehn waited for the concoction to take effect. While she stood collecting herself, she noted the tall arches that led into Bleak Falls Barrow, and noted with annoyance that she could have come up from the front as opposed to the side where all the bandits were.

"Bloody Farengar."

She muttered as she stalked into the crypt. It was no warmer in the crypt than it was outside. Pulling back the rag that obscured her face; she sighed and ruffled her dark hair. Shaking her head, she looked around. The large hall was desolate and derelict. The roof had caved in and snowflakes drifted lazily down, illuminated by the shaft of light that streamed through the hole. An orange glow caught her attention, crouching down, she moved towards it cautiously. When she was a few meters closer, she realized that it was some more bandits. Rolling her eyes, she slid up against a natural pillar and listened while they argued amongst themselves. Nocking an arrow, she wasn't really paying attention,

"I want my cut!"

One of them hissed. Another - a man, sighed and grunted in response,

"You'll get your damned cut. Just stop your whining."

The sound of a sword being drawn sliced through the air. Fehn raised her eyebrows as she fixed the arrow, her mouth downturned, she nodded. She would be happier if they just killed each other anyway. Save her some arrows.

"I can't trust you with that claw!"

Claw? Fehn's ears pricked up and she turned her head closer to them so she could hear better.

"For the love of Kynareth, do you think I'm gonna' shift you on this damned claw?"

The female bandit sneered,

"It's not just a claw is it though? It's solid gold, why would you share such a profit when you're the one who stole it? Of course you'd shift me, you milk drinker! Now Arvel's gone with it, and we're stuck waiting until you two decide it's time to kill me off!"

A golden claw? Very interesting. With one fluid movement, Fehn drew her bow and pulled the feathers of her iron arrow back. Keeping both eyes open, she let loose the arrow with a twang and it pierced the female bandit first. She went down, falling backwards down the stairs into the next passage. Nocking another quickly, she'd lost the element of surprise as a big fat burly man ran towards her swinging an axe and shield. Knocking her with the shield, Fehn gasped as she lost grip of her bow. The bandit cried out and brought the axe down quickly. Fehn rolled out of the way as the axe struck the hard ground. Grabbing an arrow from her quiver, she haphazardly ducked under the man's enraged sweep attack and stabbed him in the gut with the arrow. With a gasp he stopped. Wrenching the arrow free, Fehn kicked him back and finished him swiftly with her sword. Taking a step back, Fehn sheathed her sword and quietly made her way to the bandit's little camp fire. Rifling through their belongings, she plundered what she needed, potions, gold and arrows. Closing the chest, she kneeled by the bedroll and gazed into the fire for a moment. Retrieving a torch from her pouch, she lit it on the fire and set off down the passageway, stepping over the dead bandit as she did. It lead down into an eerie crypt, Fehn coughed and choked down a balk at the smell and sight of the decomposing skeletons and half-rotted corpses. The honored dead? She thought, bewildered that anyone could consider being buried in this smelly old hole honored.

Gingerly she picked her way through the passage, looting any gold that she noticed lying around. Stepping along a particularly thin corridor, she eyed her torch and decided it too narrow to take in with her lit. Scraping the burning end along the dusty floor, it extinguished easily enough. Throwing it to the side, she was engulfed in perpetual darkness as she squeezed her small frame in the narrow opening.

Krosis.

Fehn stopped dead. Pressed up against the dark wall, she stopped breathing. Listening carefully, she heard a rustling sound. Like bone chimes, she heard the sound of ancient bones unfolding.

Dir, Lir!

Throwing herself side on out of the passageway, she hit the ground. Glaring into the darkness, she brandished her sword and got to her feet.

"Who's there?"

Unslaad...Krosis, Lir.

She screamed as a pair glowing blue eyes emerged from the darkness, wielding flame, it engulfed the room. Slamming herself up against the side of the chamber, Fehn watched horrified as the skeletal creature was incinerated by its own doing. As it burned, it turned and gazed at her, his eyes as blue as sapphires.

Lir, Dovahkiin.

Pointing a flaming finger at her, it stated before becoming one with the ashes at its feet.

Unslaad Krosis, Dovahkiin.

The fire died out and Fehn was left panting in the darkness. Clutching her sword, her hands shaking, she leaned forward and let out a deep breath. Her hair hung lazily, obscuring her vision even more. Trembling, she stood upright and hopped over the dead creature's remains. Entering another chamber, she kept her sword at the ready.

"Hello...Is-is anyone there?"

Fehn stopped. Crouching, she took a silent breath and sliced the cobwebs away from her face with her sword. Squinting in the black chamber, she rubbed her nose as more cobwebs tickled her face.

"Harknir? Bjorn, Soling? Is that you?"

Peeking out from behind the wall, Fehn was momentarily blinded by the unexpected light in the cobweb covered chamber. Confused, she frowned at the sight. A Dunmer was flailing around stuck in a huge web. Standing up right, Fehn walked towards him,

"No! No! Watch out! D-don't..."

He was cut off as a huge frostbite spider plunged down from the ceiling. With a start, Fehn fell back. Upon seeing the disgusting creature, Fehn felt a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly she could remember the numbness of her arms and legs as she fell outside the cave leading out of Helgen. The sting in her eyes and the feeling of her body becoming utterly unresponsive. She was shaken out of her frightened reverie by the spider who snapped its poison filled pincers at her.

"Ahh! Kill it! Kill it!"

Facing the huge spider, Fehn slashed at the creature's liquid eyes. With a grunt she ran towards it. With a nimble jump, she placed a foot on its bony head and launched herself onto its hairy hind-quarters. Gripping the fur as it's screeched and writhed under her, she stabbed downwards. Keeping her eyes and mouth closed, so that none of the vile animal's blood would get in, she stabbed at it repeatedly until it was still. With a sigh, she jumped down from the creature's body. Wiping the green blood from her face and hands, she shivered. Making her way over to the trapped elf, she cocked an eyebrow at him,

"Oh, thank the gods. Thank the gods you killed it!"

Fehn looked back at the dead spider, turning back to him, she nodded.

"Cut me down! Cut me down, you won't believe what the Nord's have hidden down here! You won't believe the power they've hidden."

Gripping the hilt of her sword, Fehn pointed it at the elf,

"The Golden Claw. Give it to me. Give that to me first and I'll cut you down."

The elf rolled his ruby eyes and made an irritated clicking sound with his tongue. Motioning to his web binds, he said in a matter-of-factly voice,

"Well I can't do that right now, can I? I'm trapped! Cut me down and I'll share everything I know with you. The claw, the door, the hall of stories. I know everything!"

Fehn frowned,

"Not enough to not get yourself trapped."

The elf huffed and flexed his arms and legs in a vain attempt to free himself,

"I know...It was that damn spider! I'm sure I was its next meal...Oh please, just cut me down."

Fehn relented and said shortly,

"Fine. Stay still."

Slashing at the webbing around his wrists and legs, the Dunmer exclaimed happily,

"There! There! I-I can feel myself coming loose!"

With one final slash the elf fell to his knees before her. Before he could sit up, he was eyeing the tip of Fehn's blade. Frowning at the glinting iron, he glared at her. Extending a gloved hand, Fehn demanded in a dangerous voice,

"The Claw."

His crimson eyes never left her as he reached into his pack. As quick as an ice wraith, the Dunmer threw a large piece of ingot at her. With a cry it struck her on the head. Fehn fell back with a dull thud beside the spider. Grasping at her head, the room was spinning; she grimaced as she heard the elf run off and shout,

"Why should I share my treasure with you?"

A lump had already formed on her head as her vision doubled. Gripping at the sore flesh, she exhaled and got to her feet rather unsteadily. Recovering quickly, she retrieved the ingot and made chase after the Dunmer. Crashing down a flight of stairs, she heard the sound of swords crossing swords. Going a little more slowly, she saw that the elf was locked in a flurry with two more of the skeletal creatures. They looked just like the one who had incinerated itself in front of her. With a smirk, she tossed the ingot. It smacked into the elf's ankle and he went down with a cry. Joining the flurry, she used her sword to trip one of the skeletons and slice at his chest. The other came silently from behind her; she turned quickly enough to parry its heavier blow from a greatsword. Kicking the creature's rotted abdomen, she cried out as she then stabbed it viciously. Turning on the elf, she kneeled down and grabbed him by the front of his hide armor. Her black eyes bored into his red ones. Her face very close to his, she demanded simply,

"Give me the Claw."

With a sigh, the Dunmer produced the Golden Claw from his pack. Taking it, she nodded once and said in fake pleasantry,

"Thank you."

Letting him go, he fell back and smacked his head off the ground. Turning her back on him, she admired the piece of gold. She noted the symbols that cascaded down underside of the claw. A bear, a moth and an owl. Frowning at the strange assembly of animals, she shrugged. Turning back, she went rigid. The Dunmer was smiling; his fangs gleamed in the chamber. He had nocked an arrow and was aiming for her. Tossing his head, he said,

"Alright. Put the claw down and step away."

Fehn nodded slowly. Bending down, she placed the claw down gently with a metallic clank. Moving backwards a little, she kept her face expressionless as the Dunmer moved closer to retrieve the claw.

"Ha, thought you'd bested a Mer did you? What a fool you are, human."

Fehn watched as he moved closer. His muscles were contorted and pulsing as he held his arrow in place. Fehn's eyes wandered down to his feet and widened. There was a circular sort of hollow, only it was slightly elevated up from the ground. Like a pressure plate...She thought slowly. Without turning her head, she looked to the side and saw lots of jagged spikes protruding from a grate that extended the length of the small chamber. Oh no. The Dunmer moved closer, laughing at her, he said in an evil voice,

"Say goodbye."

With that, Fehn shook her head and waved her hands,

"No! Don't move any furth..."

It was too late. The betraying sound of stone grinding along stone gave it away. There was a snap of string somewhere, the elf's eyes widened, Fehn turned. Jumping backwards, Fehn heard the creak of the wood as the grate smoothly slammed open. The elf's arrow whizzed past her head and shattered against the stone wall to her left. She screamed as the elf was punctured by lots of iron spikes. Fehn watched as his throat contracted and blood spilled out from his mouth. Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes widened as the grate closed, dragging the now dead Dunmer back with it as it slowly creaked up against the wall and the pressure plate slowly pushed itself back up and waited for it's next unsuspecting trespasser.

Her legs felt frozen. For a moment, Fehn found herself simply sitting in the entryway to the chamber breathing in the darkness. No wonder Farengar couldn't find anyone to come up to this deathtrap! I would father face a horde of Orcs than traverse any deeper into this crypt... Painstakingly she hauled herself up and plucked the claw from the ground. Gingerly, she picked her way past the unfortunate Dunmer, turning back towards him; she placed her hand into his satchel and retrieved a journal. Blinking down at the strange handwriting, she moved out of the dark chamber and thrust the journal into the light of a greasy torch. Flicking through the pages, she noticed the term "Hall of Stories". Intrigued, she read that the claw and the hall were connected. Slamming the book closed, she placed it in her own pouch and continued deeper into the crypt to find the Hall of Stories. It was an odd feeling to walk amongst the silent dead and wonder if one would start groaning and come at her with a claymore, but none-the-less, she tried to keep the strangely animated dead from her mind as she picked her way through the dusty tombs.

Lighting a torch, she coughed as a sudden plume of smoke expelled from the flames. Waving away the smog, she frowned up at two large iron and wood doors. Pushing on the cool wood, she gawped. It was a long passageway littered with the bones of past bandits, explorers, thieves and soldiers. However, the bones that were speckled along the stone floor weren't what caught her attention. On each wall to the side of the passage, there were intricate runes and designs. They were all Nordic in their execution, all flowing and sentimental. All extremely reverent to their warrior ancestors. Taking a step forward, Fehn could never imagine her people in Cyrodiil ever revering their dead like this and scolded herself for doubting that the dead in this crypt were not honored. Her fingers slid along the pictures and in the grooves were the stone had been carved.

"This is beautiful…"

She breathed to herself as she walked along the passageway, utterly entranced by the Nord's art. Coming to a stop, she eyed a large stone door. Three symbols decorated the door. A bear, a moth and an owl. With a smile, she produced the claw and gazed down at the familiar symbols. Twisting one of the circular panels, she turned it so that it represented a bear. Following the animal symbols on the claw, she made the medium one in the middle a moth, and finally the smallest circle, an owl. Placing the claw in the alcove shaped like it, she stepped back and watched as the three circles all intertwined and spun around in the unlocking sequence. Finally a stony click resonated from behind the door. Removing the claw, she placed it back in her pouch and waited for the door to slide open. Grasping her torch, she followed the passage through to a cave. Bats squeaked and flied past her frantically. Covering her face, she watched as they flew off. Returning her curious gaze over to the bright light that was illuminating the chamber, she extinguished her torch and walked towards the light. She was surprised to see that there was an alter just up ahead, gazing up at the light she realized it was moonlight streaming in from a gaping hole in the ceiling. Climbing the stairs, she slipped as they were thick with slime. Landing on her hands, she mad a face and wiped her hands on her hips and clambered up the remaining steps. Fehn stood atop the alter and looked around for a tablet or something akin to a stone. Rummaging through a few of the open crypts proved fruitless. Sighing, she sat back on her hunches and wondered if Farengar had sent her on a wild goose chase.

_Het nok faal…Vahlon Deinmaar._

Fehn turned. A frown etched its way on to her face. Standing, she eyed the huge granite wall that seemed to be ushering and uttering words to her. Taking a few steps towards the wall, she heard the resonating words again, closing her eyes, she almost understood, but without comprehension.

_Do Dovahgolz arhk aan fus do…Unslaad rahgol arhnk…Vulom._

The tip of her nose was touching the cool stone now. Running her fingers along the scratched words, she gaped as one of the etchings began to glow. Suddenly, like a babe learning to utter their first word, like "ma" or "da", Fehn could feel a word escaping her throat. Gazing down at the floor, she whispered,

"Fus."

Her eyes widened as a little rock moved forward slightly as she uttered the word. Gripping her head, she tried to make sense of what was happening. She didn't have long to ponder when a huge crash startled her. Whipping her head around, she watched as a tall crowned skeletal abomination clambered out of tomb. His bright blue eyes fixed themselves on her. Grasping at his sword, she held it above his crown and screamed,

_Lir! Lir, Dovahkiin! Unslaad…Kiin!_

With that, he charged towards her with his sword at the ready. Smashing into the granite wall, his sword embedded itself into the stone beside her head. Rolling out of the way, Fehn brandished her own Imperial sword and slashed at the creature's back. It made a strange crackling sound; it took Fehn a moment to realize that it was laughing. It's sword still embedded in the stone, it turned to her and bellowed,

_FusROH!_

Blue air crashed into her, throwing her back. She landed painfully against the tomb of the creature, slamming her back into the ledge of the stone. Gasping, she felt tears prick her eyes. Ripping free its sword, the crowned skeletal creature, ran for her again. Without thinking, Fehn hurled her sword like a spear. Within a second it struck the creature in the chest, reeling back, he screamed in pain. Taking the opportunity, Fehn kicked at his weak legs of bone. He fell with a grunt and screamed. Dropping the greatsword as he did, he thrashed his jagged hands at Fehn. Grabbing his rusted greatsword, she stabbed it through his skeletal head.

_Krosis…Unslaad. Kiin._

Fehn heard as he faded away back to the void. Retrieving her sword from his crusty chest, she made a face as it was covered in bone meal. Checking in the tomb of the skeletal creature, her face lit up as her eyes fell on a tablet that was wedged inside. Gripping the heavy piece of stone, she hoisted it out of the crypt and managed to squeeze it inside her pouch. Huffing up towards the hole in the ceiling, she gripped on to a ledge and just managed to pull herself up. Seeing a small opening to her left, she ducked under some hanging vines and found herself outside. Breathing in the fresh air of the plains, she leaned against the cave wall. Breathing heavily, she hoped that she would be able to get back to Whiterun on time.


	8. The Watchtower

[R&R?]

Chapter VIII - The Watchtower

Farengar gave a start as a heavy stone tablet was dropped onto his desk. Raising an accusing glare up, his face was wiped clean of any accusations when he saw who had dropped the tablet. His mercenary stood before him, her face grave and covered with grime, her arms still outstretched from when she'd dropped the tablet. Blood was splattered all over her cuirass and her hair was positively outrageous. Leaning forward, she said in an undertone,

"Two words: walking dead!"

Farengar smiled and averted his gaze. Scratching his chin, he cleared his throat,

"Ah, yes…the Draugre, they gave you much trouble?"

She nodded, her eyes positively blistering with rage,

"Oh, yes."

Farengar spread his arms out and smiled. His eyes dulled as she continued to eye him with disdain,

"Well at least you got the tablet!"

Turning to his assistant, he smiled – while Fehn kept her eyes on him.

"Look, finally the Jarl has delivered us competence and now we have the tablet!"

The hooded woman turned to Fehn and cocked an eyebrow sceptically, while Fehn turned away from Farengar, she looked over to his assistant,

"You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?"

Her face still grave, Fehn nodded mutely and turned back to Farengar. Leaning in closer to the wizard, she said through gritted teeth,

"And I hope it was worth it."

Farengar nodded enthusiastically,

"Oh! You have no idea, Imperial. It shall be, oh it shall be so worth it."

Fehn softened a little at the wizard's enthusiasm for the tablet. A ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she blinked slowly, leaned back and folded her arms. She looked down and watched as Farengar began to caress the carvings on the stone tablet, turning his eager face up to her, he asked,

"Did you look at any of this on your way back?"

Fehn frowned at him,

"Of course I didn't, bone head. I was too busy fighting wolves, bears and bandits to stop and have a light – or should I say incredibly heavy – read!"

Farengar blushed and looked away,

"Oh, yes…of course. Sorry. But this! This…it's fantastic, I mean just look…"

"Farengar!"

They all turned to stare at Irileth. The Dunmer was breathless; her hand was gripped tightly around the pommel of her sword.

"Farengar! Come at once. A dragon has been spotted flying over the Western Watchtower!"

Farengar gasped and Fehn saw a smile light up his face,

"Really? Oh, gods. What…what was it doing?"

Irileth frowned,

"Flying!"

Pushing the excited wizard aside, Fehn stepped forward,

"Should I come too?"

The elf eyed her with contempt and sneered,

"Yes, if you must. The Jarl has requested your presence anyway – though I can't for the life of me see why."

Fehn nodded, shrugging off the elf's disdain, she made a bee-line for the stairs which lead to the second floor of Dragonsreach. Irileth was close behind, with Farengar in tow. When she reached the top, Fehn saw a soldier being offered a glass of brandy from Proventus while the Jarl had a hand on his shoulder,

"It's alright, son. Just tell me what it is that you saw."

The young soldier downed his brandy; his sandy hair clung to his forehead. Gazing up to the Jarl, he said shakily,

"I-I saw it. It flew right over the tower…It didn't seem to be attacking, just scouting."

Fehn piped up,

"Maybe it was looking to roost atop the tower?"

She could hear Irileth sigh at her interjection, but Balgruuf nodded and asked,

"Is that was your dragon did at Helgen?"

Fehn hesitated,

"Well, yes and no. It roosted for a moment before trying to burn us all alive, but I suppose, yes. It definitely roosted – for a time. Then it didn't."

The Jarl frowned. Shaking his head, he addressed the soldier,

"Alright, son. Go down to the barracks and get yourself some rest. You've earned it."

Turning to Irileth, he squared his shoulders and commanded,

"Irileth, take this one out and round up a battalion of able men. I want you to go and confront this dragon."

Irileth nodded once and turned, she stopped as Farengar stepped forward and stood next to Fehn,

"My Jarl, should I not go too? I mean, if there's a dragon involved…"

Balgruuf was shaking his head. Raising a hand, he said evenly,

"No Farengar. I will leave this up to Irileth for the moment. I can't risk both of you. I need you here devising ways to defeat or at least repel these beasts."

Turning to Fehn, Balgruuf asked,

"Will you do me one final favour, friend? Go with Irileth and defend the watch tower. You have had the most experience with dragons, so maybe you will spot something that they will miss. Go with honour and fight or die well."

Averting her gaze from the Jarl's, Fehn's shoulders slumped. Of course, she wanted to help them, but she was exhausted from her journey from Bleak Falls Barrow. She looked over the Jarl again, seeing the desperation on the man's face; she felt a pang of pity. She shrugged and nodded her head,

"Of course, I'll do what I can."

"Alright then come on! We've got no time to lose!"

Fehn turned and filed out behind Irileth, Balgruuf exclaimed,

"Irileth!"

The elf turned, her chest was heaving at the thought of the impending battle. The Jarl strode towards her and said in a serious voice,

"Remember, Irileth. This is not a death and glory mission. I need you to come back and report to me. You are of no use to me dead. No matter how much glory your death was seeped in, alright?"

Fehn watched the elf's strange features, and for the first time she saw Irileth's pointed elven face soften, and a look of real affection adorned her countenance. It disappeared however behind her mask of cold indifference, she replied slyly,

"Have no fear, my Jarl. I am the very soul of caution."

* * *

><p>The rain was coming swift and straight down. Fehn wore a scowl as deep as the deepest canyon in all of Tamriel. Cold, wet and miserable was their party as she, Irileth and a squad of Whiterun guards all converged on the Western Watchtower. Fehn could already hear the dragon's filthy roars as she neared the tower, and she could also feel the familiar fear grip her as she listened.<p>

"What was it like? In Helgen, I mean?"

Asked one of the guards as they slowed down to a trot, Fehn frowned at the question,

"I don't know…It is difficult to explain. I try not to think about it."

The guard nodded and asked, his voice a little shaky,

"Anything I should watch out for?"

Turning her face to him, she said in a deadly serious tone,

"Yes. When it shouts, you cover your ears."

She ran along ahead of him and caught up to Irileth who was slowing to a stop,

"Hmm, there doesn't seem to be any immediate danger at the moment. Archers! Prepare your bows and keep a watchful eye on the sky! Spread out and look for survivors!"

Nocking an arrow, Fehn sprinted towards the tower. Fire engulfed most of the grass – even in the rain it burned bright – there was no doubt in her mind that a dragon's flame could probably burn stone. Making her way up the small slope, she saw a guard cowering behind a shallow wall. Kneeling beside him, she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder,

"Are you alright?"

Shaking his head as his body trembled, he breathed,

"Fire! He's been roaring fire!"

Suddenly a roar engulfed the skies and the soldier screamed,

"He comes! He-he comes back!"

Leaving the soldier, Fehn sprang to her feet and drew her arrow back. Taking aim at the approaching dragon, she breathed in and released her arrow. She didn't see if it made contact, she was already out on open ground taking aim once more. Nearly a whole quiver later, the dragon unleashed a jet of flames, incinerating some guards. Fehn grimaced at their blood curdling screams of agony. Aiming her arrow alongside Irileth, the elf was drenched in sweat and looked worried.

"If we don't bring it down, you return to Whiterun and warn Balgruuf!"

Fehn loosed another arrow before rounding on the Dunmer,

"I thought it wasn't death and glory?"

The elf barged her with her shoulder and snapped,

"Fool! Just do as I tell you!"

There was another roar from the sky as the dragon landed causing the ground to shake under his weight. His crowned head was jagged and exceptional. His dark bronze scales glistened in the rain and fire.

_**YOL!**_

A jet of flames burst from its maw and singed Fehn's hair. Retrieving a shield from a dead guard, she ploughed towards the dragon and through its fiery wall. When the oncoming flames finally stopped Fehn smacked into its chops with her shield, with a cry she slashed at its snout and snarled as the great beast snapped at her, clipping her arm.

_**YOL!**_

Fehn coughed as the air was swallowed up by the dragon's flame. Stabbing at its face, she managed to slice its eye, stemming the flames. The dragon roared in agony and absolute rage. Using his huge claw, he slashed at Fehn's cuirass. She jumped back and gaped as the dragon left three large rips in her armor. Bounding forward, she slammed her shield into the dragon again. It was beginning to look hopeless. The dragon roared another deafening roar and sucked in. Fehn watched as its belly expanded and it prepared to blast her with another jet of flames. Suddenly, she remembered Bleak Falls. Taking a breath herself, they locked eyes. Dragon and girl. She let out a terrifying shout,

"FUS!"

The dragon reeled back and gave a choked roar. With that, Fehn jumped forward and embedded her sword into the dragon's skull. It shook its massive head, screeching and writhing in pain. Fehn felt her sword snap in half. Falling to the ground, she gasped and looked in her hand. All that remained of her sword was the pommel. Snapping her gaze back to the dragon, she watched as his great head slumped forward and was still. As she had predicted, the dragon's hide began to shimmer and whirling light encased its already glittering scales. Reaching out to touch the dead dragon's snout, she felt his scales melt away in the light. Soon, she was only touching bone. The light whipped around them, flitting around Fehn's head and body and finally converged to where her heart would be and she felt herself absorb the ethereal light. It wasn't painful, not like it had been in her dream. It felt wonderful, a great surge of power and life. She stared blankly at the dragon. When the lights faded and died, only then did she realise that she was draped over the dragon's bones weeping uncontrollably. Behind her a guard gasped,

"The Thu'um! You summoned the Thu'um…I don't believe it…you're…Dragonborn."


	9. The Companions

Chapter IX – The Companions

The tears did not relent. Unbearable sobs kept forcing themselves out as Fehn rode back to Whiterun. Irileth rode alongside her and sneered,

"For the love of Azura, what in Oblivion is your problem?"

Fehn didn't answer, for she truly didn't have one. All she knew was that when she killed that dragon and consumed whatever that light was, she had felt an uncontrollable sadness overwhelm her. She felt big and hunted. A stranger in a strange land, out of place with no way to commune that she was only doing what came natural. She couldn't explain these tears to Irileth because there were simply no words. Wiping her face, she sniffed and bowed her head. The tip of her nose was red and her lips puffy. Irileth scoffed and rode on. Fehn watched the elf's back as she trotted into Whiterun's stables.

_If a time ever comes, I will truly enjoy killing you._

The guards swung open the gates to of Whiterun. Fehn was at a loath to see that lots of the cities inhabitants had come out in their hundreds to enquire about the "Battle for the Watchtower" as it had become known. She was determined that none should see her with tears on her face, so she wiped her cheeks again and tried to duck behind some of the guards.

"Everyone, back to your homes, there is nothing to see here! Move along, move along."

Irileth cut a path through the throng of people. Gripping Fehn by her wrist, she pulled her along behind her. Her head bowed, Fehn heard people muttering about the small girl from Cyrodiil who looked the most banged up out of the lot of them. She heard an old woman mutter,

"The poor dear. She must have been snatched by the dragon and rescued. Dragon's like young maidens, don't they?"

The old woman's friend nodded and gazed upon Fehn with sympathy,

"What an ordeal."

Fehn dug her heals into the ground as Irileth dragged her roughly through the Cloud District.

"Hey!"

The elf's ears pricked up, but she didn't listen. Suddenly a man slammed into Irileth. Letting go of Fehn, she gasped at the rude man. He had long blond hair – which was pulled back in a ponytail and a full beard. His armor was that of simple leather and studs, a war axe hung at his hip. Raising his hairy arms, he said thickly,

"Whoa, there, little lady! I was only off to wet my throat…or was I?"

Irileth eyed him up and down, before hissing,

"Torvar. Drunk again I see, you vile retch! "

The man known as Torvar frowned deeply. Looking down at the Dunmer, he placed his hands on his hips and said in a sarcastic voice,

"Oh! Irileth! What a surprise to see that you're still acting like such a bitch. Why not have some mead? Loosen up? The Nine knows you could use it."

With a grunt, the elf threw a punch at the drunken Nord. Fehn watched surprised as he seemed to instantly sober and catch her gloved hand in his bare one. Smiling at the snarling elf, he asked,

"Oh, when are we gonna' stop dancing around the subject, Irileth?"

Wrenching herself free of his grasp, she waved her hand and snarled,

"Get out of my sight, vagabond!"

With a laugh he walked around her and retorted cheerily,

"With pleasure!"

Fehn watched him make his way down the stairs and cross the Plains District and into the Bannered Mare. She let out a cry of pain as Irileth grabbed her wrist again. This time, she silently relented and allowed herself to be rough housed all the way up to Dragonsreach. When they reached the top of the stairs, Fehn cast a look up at the bones of another dead dragon. She could feel more tears coming fast, but supressed them. A guard who was standing by the stairs nodded at Irileth and uttered,

"Houscarl."

Suddenly the earth seemed to tremble and shake. Falling to their knees, Fehn watched as Irileth and the guards all hit the deck while she stood and listened as the air around her rippled and shuddered. Frowning, she turned her face towards High Hrothgar – the Throat of The World. Reaching out her hand, she swayed as the power of the call drew her. Without her noticing, the guards and Irileth both got to their feet.

"By the Eight, what was that?"

Irileth turned to see Fehn standing with her hand outstretched towards High Hrothgar. With an irritated click of her tongue, she grabbed the swaying girl and threw her into Dragonsreach.

Proventus watched as Jarl Balgruuf stalked back and forth before his throne. He was chewing on his fingernails and scowling deeply. Getting to his feet, the advisor said softly,

"My Jarl, you must be patient. I'm sure Irileth will have commanded the force well and they are on their way back."

Balgruuf rounded on him,

"It's not Irileth I'm worried about, Proventus. It's my men. My Hold. My whole damn city and its people! How will we combat dragons if there is no sure way of defeating them? I ask you, how will I defend my subjects, my family and my birth right? Legionares, Stormcloaks, let them come! But dragons…"

He turned away, his anger spent. Proventus turned his eyes to the floor. The Jarl's frantic pacing was broken by the sound of the great doors of Dragonsreach being hurled open – and Fehn being hurled through them. Whipping around, she threatened Irileth darkly,

"I swear if you throw me around one more time, I'll boot that gray arse of yours back to Morrowind!"

Irileth scoffed and pushed her forward,

"I'd like to see you try, whelp."

Raising her fist, Fehn was ready to punch Irileth's smirking face when she heard a voice behind her,

"Ah, you have both returned at last."

It was Proventus. Standing at the top of the stairs, he took in the sight of Fehn's raised fist aimed for Irileth's face. Cocking an eyebrow at the elf, Irileth narrowed her eyes at Fehn. Lowering her fist, Fehn turned and smiled at Proventus.

"Yes, we're back."

The Jarl listened intently while Irileth relayed the tale of their battle with the dragon. Leaning back in his chair, he nodded and scratched his chin. Turning to Fehn, he waved her forward. Raising an eyebrow at her, he asked,

"And what of you? How did you fare in this battle?"

Fehn shrugged. She was exhausted and didn't care for this aimless swapping of words.

"The dragon showed up. We killed it. We lost many men…I hope it was worth it."

The Jarl bobbed his head again; his face was contorted in thought,

"Yes, I knew I could count on Irileth."

The elf beamed at the praise – which made Fehn want to slap her even more. Fixing his gaze on her, the Jarl added,

"But there's got to be more to it than that. Tell me, did anything else happen?"

Fehn wavered, looking away from the Jarl; she wrung her hands behind her back. She was hesitant to tell the Jarl that his men had been calling her Dragonborn the whole way back to Whiterun and had referred to her shouting at the dragon as something called a 'Thu'um'. She also did not wish to share with him what had transpired between her and the dying dragon, for it felt exceptionally personal to her. However, a guard came forward and said in awe,

"With all due respect, my Jarl. This girl killed the dragon near enough single-handedly. She used the Thu'um and then stabbed the dragon with her sword."

Balgruuf eyed her with a new-found respect. Smiling at her, he said,

"Well, humble as well as resourceful. I never would have thought."

She could feel her colour rise as the guard continued,

"That's not all, my lord. After she killed the dragon, she…"

He broke off. Balgruuf frowned and enquired grumpily,

"She what, boy?"

The soldier looked from the Jarl to Fehn and said finally,

"She stole its soul."

Fehn stood unseeing as the hall erupted into a horde of arguing fools. Proventus was arguing with the soldier who had made such a foolish claim. To claim that someone had stolen a dragon's soul, what nonsense! Irileth was in turn arguing with Jarl Balgruuf about her discretion towards that particular piece of information when she had reported to him. Well, of course she hadn't been there to see the actual soul stealing take place, so how was she to know? All the while this was going on; Fehn could feel a huge headache coming on. Blinking slowly, she sighed as her black eyes bored into the wooden floor. She was thinking about the dragon, about how she had dreamt that encounter and she had known that she would inherently steal his soul. She had felt it. Again, tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered the dragon's dying growl ringing in her head, rattling her bones,

"Dovahkiin?"

She uttered under breath. Fehn realised that she had heard that familiar word over and over again ever since she had entered Skyrim

"Dovahkiin."

The Jarl motioned for them all to stop arguing. Leaning forward, he asked Fehn,

"What did you just say, girl?"

Raising her eyes, she looked directly at the Jarl.

"I don't know…What is a Dragonborn?"

The next hour was spent in the Jarl's private quarters while he explained the basics of Dragonborn lore. Farengar joined them and interjected with what he knew of the old legends. At the end of their briefing, Fehn sat back in her chair. She must have drunk at least three bottles of Nord mead by the end of it. Balgruuf said in a solemn voice,

"Ah, to tread the 7000 steps again, did you know that I did the pilgrimage?"

Fehn shook her head, the room was spinning now. Farengar asked her,

"You heard the thunderous sound on your way back from the battle, yes?"

Fehn puckered her brow, trying to recall – the mead making it quite difficult. Suddenly the memory came back to her. She remembered the inexplicable desire to scale High Hrothgar and answer the call of the mountain. When she dipped her head, Farengar smiled,

"That was the Greybeard's summoning you to High Hrothgar. They would teach you the Way of The Voice. An ancient and mysterious bunch they are. As I recall, Ulfric Stormcloak did tuition with them. That's how he learned to project his Thu'um and kill High King Torryg."

After sitting down for so long, Balgruuf got up and unfolded his long legs. Focusing on Fehn, he said,

"You must have lots to think about; you should go and get some rest. Come back here tomorrow and we'll talk more about your future. Do you have somewhere to spend the night?"

Looking up at him, Fehn got to her feet also. With a brisk nod, she said yes. Balgruuf accepted her answer and waved her and Farengar out of his private quarters, leaving the Jarl to retire. Fehn listened as Farengar chattered on about all he had gleaned from the stone tablet already. She wasn't really paying much attention, but she humoured him with various, 'Uhm's' and 'Oh's'.

Eventually it was time for them to part ways. Waving to the wizard, Fehn's brow furrowed as she noticed his assistant glowering at her from behind her alchemy table. Waving to the assistant, she raised her eyebrows when the woman simply stared at her. With a shrug, she left Dragonsreach. Passing several of the guards, she had to stop and abolish the rumours that she was 'Dragonborn'. Weaving in and out of the houses and alleyways, Fehn finally found herself outside the Bannered Mare. She nearly fell in the door, gripping onto the door latch tightly, she stumbled half-way over to the bar. Hulda caught a breath as she watched the girl struggle. Taking in her ruined clothes and haggard face, she motioned to the man, Torvar, to help her get the girl upstairs. Torvar exclaimed,

"Oh, do I gotta' help a milk drinker who can't handle her mead?"

Hulda scowled at the drunken man and slung one of Fehn's arms over her shoulders,

"If you want to keep drinking up my mead, you'll help, Companion."

With a hard-done-by sigh, Torvar hauled himself to his feet and waved Hulda away. The older woman moved back and watched with her hands on her hips as the Companion simply hoisted the smaller girl up and over his shoulder,

"Where'd you want me to set her down?"

Hulda pointed to the upstairs bedroom and followed him up as she carried Fehn up to the second floor. As they climbed the stairs, Torvar grumbled,

"I better get a freebie for this, Hulda. I'm off duty for the night."

With a sigh, Hulda relented and agreed to give him a free ale for his trouble. Kicking open the double doors, Torvar dropped Fehn unceremoniously on the bed and turned to Hulda, tipping an invisible hat, he said,

"Mission completed. I'll be down in the bar waiting on my mead."

With that, he swept past her. Shaking her head, Hulda called out without turning around,

"It'll be ale only for you!"

"Don't care!"

Came his reply. With a smile, Hulda shook her head again. Moving towards the girl, she removed one of the three pillows that were under her head so that she would not have a sore neck in the morning. Tutting at the ripped garments Fehn had on, she felt the girl's head. Hulda made a face, she was quite warm. Extinguishing the fire at the edge of the room, she turned again to regard the girl. She was lying on her back on the bed she'd used the previous night before, her eyes were blackened by fatigue and she was breathing deeply and slowly. Closing the doors, Hulda returned downstairs and nodded to Torvar – who was waving his tankard around like a brigand,

"Yes, yes, you'll get your drink!"

Morning came all too soon for Fehn. Rolling over on to her side, she sighed contently. Rubbing her face against the soft pillows, she lay dozing for most of the morning. Sooner or later, she decided she had to get up and with that, managed to drag herself out of bed. Eyeing her mangy cuirass and soiled boots which were caked in human blood, spider blood, draugre blood and dragon blood, she had to supress the urge to be sick. Kicking off the boots, she removed her fur gloves also. Peeking over the side of the little balcony overlooking the bar, she saw Hulda working down below. She was scrubbing down the tables and humming as she did. Fehn hailed her and the older woman joined her upstairs. Fehn quickly told her of what had happened the night before, offering her ten septims for the room, Hulda took her coins and placed them in the pouch at the front of her dress.

"That's quite a story, child…So the rumours and legends about dragons are true, eh?"

Fehn bobbed her head,

"It would seem so."

Hulda smiled and looked over Fehn with a critical eye.

"You know, since you have given me twenty septims over the last two days, I suppose I can regard you as a patron now. So, for the ten coins you've just given me now, how about a bath a change of clothes and a warm breakfast?"

Fehn felt a lump in her throat and smiled. Pinching at the ruined cuirass, she nodded, feeling tears glistening in her eyes from Hulda's kindness.

"That would be wonderful."

She rued and watched as Hulda smiled and declared cheerfully,

"Alright, you hang tight up here and I'll tell Saadia to heat some water for you, while I go and fetch you some breakfast."

On that note, she left Fehn alone in her room.

It was amazing how one could feel so much better after a hot meal and a warm bath. Fehn skipped over to the wardrobe were Hulda had left her some clothes, water was dripping from her calves and her hair was bound in a rough towel. Placing the belted tunic on the bed, Fehn dried herself quickly and donned the tunic. It felt wonderful to get out of her heavy cuirass and into something light and airy. Slipping on a pair of soft leather boots, she combed her fingers through her dark hair and made her way down to the mead hall. Hulda smiled at the girl warmly as she entered,

"Well, don't we look like a new woman? Breakfast is ready, come and sit."

Taking the seat offered, Fehn settled down to tuck in to her breakfast of bacon and eggs. She ate with gusto and washed it down with merely water – which Hulda found a little strange. After she had finished her meal, Hulda came and swept her empty plate away and topped her tankard up with mead,

"You will be travelling up to Dragonsreach today?"

Fehn nodded, sipping her mead.

"Yes, is there anything you want me to say to him? The Jarl, I mean."

Hulda thought for a moment, flicking a strand of graying hair behind her ear, she said,

"No, child. Balgruuf knows that he owes this city a lot, he is a Nord like me and like nearly all the kinsmen in Whiterun, yet he will not pick a side."

Fehn gazed at the woman curiously,

"So you support Ulfric?"

Hulda smiled and dipped her head,

"Of course, Ulfric is a patron and a brave man. A good soldier and a fair Jarl. The exclusion of Talos from divinity is absolutely unacceptable. The emperor should have known better than to sell Skyrim down the river to appease those filthy white-skinned goblins."

Fehn recoiled at the woman's vehemence. Rounding on her, Hulda said in a warm voice,

"The reason I trust you, child is because you wear the amulet of Talos."

Fehn plucked the golden amulet from inside her tunic, gazing at it for a moment, she commented,

"A boy in Riverwood gave it to me…Thought it might keep me safe."

Hulda smiled, her face beaming,

"Talos preserve you, unlike those other stuck-up Imperials; you mind your P's and Q's."

They laughed and Fehn agreed that her brethren were indeed stuck-up. Soon enough the first patrons began to seep in from the streets, so Hulda had to depart behind the bar. Wishing her luck with the Jarl, she left. Fehn sat for another few moments watching the people who had arrived at the Bannered Mare. Recognising one of them, she got up and made her way towards him,

"Ahem…uh, excuse me?"

Torvar turned at looked at her; his eyes were bleary from his drinking the night before,

"Yeah, what is it?"

Fehn stuttered for words and rubbed her hands together in an absent minded way. Taking a breath, she said finally,

"I wanted to thank you…for last night."

Torvar's eyes widened, turning himself to face her, he eyed her up and down with a wry smile. Nodding he said,

"And how by the Nine did I manage to pick up a little nibblet like you?"

Fehn stared at him blankly while Hulda shook her head from behind the bar, leaning forward, she slapped the man's large muscled arm and hissed,

"She means thank you for getting her into bed safely, you oaf."

With that, Torvar nodded again,

"Oh. Oh, yeah, right. Well no problem. My advice to you, sugar, keep off the mead if you can't stomach it."

Fehn nodded, she wasn't really sure what had just happened. Smiling at Hulda weakly, she watched as the Nord woman waved her away and poured another drink for Torvar.

It was cold today. Fehn was beginning to regret her joy at having something lighter on earlier. She always seemed to forget she wasn't in Cyrodiil, where nine days out of ten, the sun always shone. Skyrim was different; it was cold and foreboding, with only the iciest of sunrays. Making her way through the city, she realised that Whiterun had been opened again. There were merchants and traders all milling in and out of the large main gates. Making her way up the stairs to the Cloud District, she was distracted by the preaches of a priest at the edge of the district. Walking over to him, she joined the people who were gathered around him,

"Talos guide and preserve all true Nords! May he bless you with his unending wisdom!"

She watched and many of the Nords there bobbed their heads in agreement. She also saw a few Imperial men roll their eyes and move away from the scene. Standing at least a foot shorter than everybody gathered, Fehn found it easy to slip out of the crowd. Gazing back, she wasn't looking were she was going; smack.

"Oh, I am so sorry! Please, let me help you."

Getting to her knees, she bent to retrieve the fallen papers, the grizzled man smiled and said kindly,

"It's alright, pup. No harm done, although I will mind you to keep your eyes forward."

Fehn laughed and passed him some papers. Taking the papers, he stared at her sharply. Fehn's smile faded as she saw how intense his gaze was. He was an old and grizzled Nord man with a blind eye and war paint on his face. Fehn squirmed a little and let go of the papers.

"I'm sorry again."

Upon hearing her voice, the man shook his head and smiled warmly at her, his previous entrancement forgotten.

"No problem. Thank you for helping me to pick them up. Talos guide you, child."

With that, he got up and stalked around her. Fehn watched as he made his way past the commotion the priest was making and up towards a long hall. Fehn was helped to her fee by a guard, shaking his head, he said,

"You're lucky it was Kodlak you bumped into and not Skjor – he'd have bitten your head off for sure."

Looking up at the tall guard, Fehn wiped down her tunic and asked,

"Kodlak?"

The guard nodded his head making his iron helmet clank as he did,

"Yes, he's the Harbinger of the Companions."

Fehn frowned up at him,

"Harbinger? Like an advisor?"

The guard shrugged,

"I'm not sure. All I know is that he's the only one any of them listens to. And I mean, the only one."


	10. Recruitment

Chapter X – Recruitment

Fehn spent the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon in conversation with Balgruuf, Proventus and Farengar; they all concurred that she should make the pilgrimage to High Hrothgar and scale the 7000 steps. Balgruuf gave her some steel armor and the axe of Whiterun as a gift. Staring at the rich armour, Fehn said solemnly,

"Thank you."

Balgruuf accepted her thanks and wished her well on her journey. As she turned to leave, Proventus piped up,

"May I make a suggestion, Dragonborn?"

Fehn nodded for him to proceed,

"Maybe you should hire a Companion for your travels, as an extra sword-arm and escort. You are new to this land and the men and women down in Jorvaskrr are well familiar with the landscape of Skyrim."

Balgruuf dipped his head in agreement,

"Yes, that is a good idea, Proventus."

Turning to her, he said,

"You should head down to their mead hall, Jorvaskrr. Speak to them down there and see if you can barter their services. Tread well and be safe, Dragonborn. Good luck."

Taking her leave of them, Fehn made her way back down to the Bannered Mare. The bar was quiet and Saadia – Hulda's Redguard assistant - gave her a curt nod as she past her. Opening the door to her room, Fehn donned her steel armour, and strapped her axe to her belt. The distinct sound of steel clanking followed her as she left her room and returned to the bar. Hulda was behind the bar and chatting to Saadia as she worked, noticing the girl, Hulda smiled.

"Ah, off to adventure, child?"

Nodding to the armour, Hulda wrung the rag she had in her hand and her smile broadened,

"You dress like a true Nord."

Fehn smiled sheepishly, she must have looked like a child wearing their father's armour. Producing a coin purse from her pack, Fehn passed it to Hulda. The woman's smile wavered and she frowned as she was handed the purse.

"What's this?"

Fehn shrugged,

"For the room and stuff...and the kindness you've shown me while I've been here."

Hulda's face softened and she cradled the purse in her hands. Reaching out, she gently squeezed Fehn's cheek and said tenderly,

"It's no problem, child. You have done Whiterun a great service in these last few days. You are always welcome here at the Bannered Mare."

Fehn smiled and nodded.

"Thank you."

Saying goodbye to Hulda and the Bannered Mare was more difficult than Fehn had thought it would have been. Inhaling deeply, she tried to push the thought of her own homelessness from her mind as she stalked over the Wind District and made her way to the Companion's dwelling of Jorvaskrr. Walking along the length of the mead hall, she poked her head around the side of the wall. She started when she came face to face with a large burly Nord man. His huge arms were folded over his swollen chest and his jaw set – his face a picture of gruffness. Glowering down at her, he said,

"Watch yourself, sneak thief."

Fehn frowned up at him and retorted,

"I'm not a thief! I didn't even know you were there."

He huffed a little and unfolded his arms. Placing his hands on his hips, he shifted his weight and eyed her,

"Don't bellyache, kid. It doesn't suit you."

Rolling her eyes, she pushed past the big man and walked onwards into the empty courtyard of Jorvaskrr. Looking around – squinting in the bright sunlight – her eyes fell on a woman. She was sitting on a wooden chair in the shade, her eyes half lidded and distant. Fehn's eyes widened a little as she realised it was the woman from the other day, the one who had been fighting the giant. Moving towards her, Fehn cleared her throat. The woman made no indication that she didn't know that Fehn was there. Turning smoothly towards her, she bored into the girl with her ice-blue eyes.

"Yes?"

She asked simply. Fehn gawped a little.

"Uh…Is, no, who-who's in charge here?"

The woman scoffed and looked away from her. Shaking her head to herself, she looked back,

"No one is 'in charge' here. But if you are dead-set on talking to someone who'll humour a whelp in tin, you can go and talk to Kodlak. He is of a milder manner and will be more talkative than that of me."

Fehn watched as the woman stood and walked off gracefully. Fehn cocked an eyebrow at the woman. _What's her problem?_ Boiling it down to the fact that she was an Imperial and the woman a Nord, Fehn opened one of the big carved doors which led into Jorvaskrr.

"Oh gods! They're at it again!"

"Ten septims on Njada!"

"Done!"

The door slid open silently on oiled hinges. Slipping into the well-lit hall, Fehn as greeted with commotion. A Dunmer grunted and fell back as he was punched by a lithe Nord woman in hide armour.

"Come on!"

The elf ducked as she threw another punch – smacking her fist against the wall. The dark elf in retaliation tackled her around the waist and threw her back. The Nord snarled and laced her fingers together and smashed down on his back with both her hands. The elf grunted again and elbowed her. Confused, Fehn stepped forward, looking around at the other people in the hall; she wondered why no one stopped the brawl. A big Nord man with thinning hair that was tied back in a ponytail stood and eyed the fight with his one good eye, a tankard of mead in his hand. Two identical men were also watching the fight. Fehn recognized the one with the long hair as the one she had saved from being pummelled by the giant's club. He rolled his eyes at the grunting elf and snarling woman and turned back to his mead. His twin watched intently – his arms folded.

There was a crash as the elf was hurled onto the table. His arms outstretched and flat on his back, he grimaced baring his fangs. Gripping the elf's neck, the woman commanded breathily,

"Yield!"

The elf shrugged her hand off and snorted,

"Aye alright, get off, you mammoth I yield!"

With a self-satisfied smirk, the woman backed off and allowed the elf to get up and off the table. With a grimace he rubbed his back. The man with the ponytail clapped and tossed a bottle of mead to the victor and shook his head at the loser. Fehn watched as the twin with the shorter hair disengaged from the others and walked around the outskirts of the room and down a flight of steps. Quietly, she followed his path and sneaked down to the lower levels of the hall. Silently like a shadow, she slunk along behind the heavily armoured man. She followed him all the way along the passageway until he entered a large room. Peeking around the corner, she saw the Harbinger, Kodlak, sitting on a wooden chair bent over lots of scrolls. Upon the armoured man's entering Kodlak looked up and smiled warmly.

"Ah, Vilkas. What's troubling you, my boy?"

Fehn listened as Vilkas sighed and watched as his broad shoulders trembled. Kodlak frowned and stood, taking the man's shoulders, he sat him down on the wooden seat across from him. Passing him a bottle of mead, Kodlak probed gently,

"What is it, son?"

Vilkas lowered his eyes ashamed before looking back at Kodlak,

"It's…I-I'm finding the…the lack of transformations…"

He broke off. Fehn gazed at him curiously. What did he mean by transformations? Kodlak nodded understandingly and patted the boy's shoulder. Vilkas continued,

"It's getting harder, Kodlak. I want to run out again."

Looking away from the distressed boy, Kodlak raised his nose and sniffed the air softly. Blinking, he looked at Vilkas and gave him a hard look,

"Now's not the time to talk about this. We have a visitor."

With that, he turned to the door and looked straight at Fehn. Her hand was resting on the doorframe, leaned against the wall, half of her pretty face visible, the rest obscured by the wall. Smiling at the half-hidden girl, Kodlak motioned her forward with his hand. He noted that she was now wearing armour as opposed to the tunic she had on earlier that day. He smiled at the poor fit and how she still seemed to be managing to not keel over. Vilkas saw the ill-fit too and grimaced. She was so obviously medium armour and not a full-fledged heavy. Scratching his rough chin, he eyed her over as she came forward. Standing before them both, Fehn said in smooth voice,

"I'm sorry to interrupt. You're Kodlak, yes?"

The old man nodded and said,

"Yes. Yes I am. What can me and the Companions do for you?"

Her eyes glinted in the candlelight. Like big onyx stones, Kodlak also noted the scar on her left cheek, a strong sword arm and a certain ferocity to this girl hidden behind a little girlish demeanour, he found it amusing.

"I'm new to Skyrim, I'm doing a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar…I need someone to accompany me. I was recommended to the Companions by the Jarl."

Kodlak frowned,

"A pilgrimage to the Throat of the World? And what journey that would be…You would have to travel to Ivarstead first and then proceed from there…"

He trailed off in his thoughts, returning his attention to Fehn, he asked,

"Not that it's any of my business, but why are you doing this pilgrimage? Surely with the world in such a dangerous age, a little thing like you would wish to avoid death traps like pilgrimages cross country."

Fehn's eyes narrowed, gazing into his eyes, she softened and divulged some information,

"These dangerous times concern me – apparently. So I have to travel there and speak to…a teacher."

Kodlak dipped his head and didn't comment on her vagueness. Looking over to Vilkas and then back to her, he enquired,

"Do you have a preference? I assume you saw or spoke to some of the members upstairs?"

Fehn shook her head,

"Not spoken, but yes. I did have a look at a few of them up there."

Kodlak raised a bushy eyebrow,

"So would you be wanting a Companion of quick feet like Athis? Or a juggernaut like Vilkas here?"

Folding her arms, Fehn thought for a moment on the pros and cons of having either a light or heavy armoured Companion to guide her. Finally with a nod, she said,

"I'd like a heavily armoured one, please. Just in case we run into any dra...bandits."

The old man bowed his head and sighed,

"Alright, now that we have that settled, we must now talk about payment."

Fehn's stomach tightened at that. She was grossly poor at the moment. Reaching into her pack, she produced a coin purse which held a grand total of eighty septims. Peering in the purse, Kodlak laughed and said,

"With this, Vilkas here can escort you to the stables, but all the way to Ivarstead? I think not. Have you thought of maybe hiring a carriage?"

Fehn frowned at being made fun of. Placing a hand on the table, she said,

"Well if that doesn't suffice I can always offer the Companions my services? I heard you were looking for new members?"

Vilkas frowned at her insolent tone and moved his hand threateningly down to the hilt of a dagger he had strapped to his belt. Fehn ignored him and instead kept her honest gaze locked on Kodlak.

"Hmm, a Companion, is that really what you wish to be? How able would you say you were?"

Fehn looked away for a moment, looking down at the axe strapped to her hip, she said,

"I still have much to learn. But I learn fast."

Kodlak smiled at her and then at the surely Vilkas,

"A wise answer from one so young, maybe you do have what it takes to be a Companion."

Vilkas piped up at that, staring dumbfounded at his Harbinger, he asked,

"You can't be seriously thinking of allowing this whelp to join us?"

Kodlak brushed away his comment with a wave of a gnarled hand and hushed him,

"Now Vilkas, sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes people hoping to become great warriors and be as renowned as Ysgramor himself approach us. I sense this girl has a burning for battle. Alright, girl, we will accept your payment of eighty some septims and the promise of your working for us upon your return. Vilkas, you go with her on her pilgrimage. You watch and take notes of her form, and when you both come back, we'll see if you truly are cut out to be a Companion."

Fehn recoiled internally from the surely look Vilkas had on his face. She only hoped he was as ferocious in battle as his face was now. Kodlak, noticing the look, laughed out loud. Clapping Vilkas on the back, Kodlak said with mirth in his voice,

"Oh come now, Vilkas! I'm sending you because you have the brains and the brawn! Talos knows if I sent Farkas he'd leave her up atop the mountain and forget about her."

So it began. The pilgrimage that would change her life forever.


	11. Paradise Dreams

Chapter XI – Paradise Dreams

_The wind's breeze gently caused her skirts to ripple about her ankles. Breathing in the sunny air, Fehn smiled. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned – the warm ground was smooth under her bare feet. Her radiant smile broadened in the light of the orange sun. Extending her hand, she felt a warm grip take her fingers, and the arms of her father envelope her. He smiled down on his babe, her curly black hair and big black eyes – like a deer's eyes. Kissing her chubby hands, he threw her in the air and laughed. Gazing over the sunlit courtyard, she watched as her elder brother ran around their mother and giggled. Setting her down, her father cupped one of her olive cheeks and grinned at her, his skin very dark in the sun, his eyes as black as her own. He said in his thick Imperial accent, _

"_My little Dovah."_

Fehn's eyelashes swept her cheeks as she awoke. Gazing around her briefly, she blinked the grogginess away. Staring up at the night sky, she watched the emerald lights dance and pulse along the blackness. It was strange how sharp and crisp Skyrim was compared to Cyrodiil. She longed for smooth stone and mild sunshine, constant warmth with milk and honey. She sighed at her own foolishness. Sitting up, she looked over the campfire at Vilkas. They had been travelling for two days now, and had already run in to a few obstacles already. Bandits, wolves and bears had littered the road from Whiterun to Ivarstead. They had camped on a ledge overlooking the main road, but not so close so their fire would attract attention from animals or people alike. Vilkas was sitting on a rock breaking a twig and staring into the flames of the campfire. Fehn had come to wonder why he always seemed to stay awake at night, always keeping watch and having brief naps during the day when they stopped to rest. Tonight was no exception. Clearing her throat, he looked up. At once she regretted making a sound when his pale eyes bored into her. She felt her stomach tighten under his gaze. Of course, this was nothing intimate, she just found herself uneasy around him. He was quiet and contemplative – not open at all. She obviously understood that this was just work to him, and he wasn't being paid to be a chatterer, but a bit of light banter wouldn't have hurt. Taking a leap of faith, she got up and approached the fire; she wavered a little when Vilkas turned his face up to her. His eyes were nearly white against the blackness of the war paint he wore around his eyes. Sitting cross-legged at the fire, she sighed.

"Why are you awake? Dawn isn't for another few hours yet. You see the lights? They are still burning strong, when they begin to fade, that's when I know that dawn is approaching and the sun will break soon."

Fehn nodded, she had always been interested in the lights that illuminated Skyrim's sky at night from the moment she had seen them. Huffing his shoulders, Vilkas dropped what remained of the twig he had been snapping. The silence was poignant and hung in the air almost tangible.

"I had a dream tonight."

Fehn revealed suddenly. Vilkas cocked an eyebrow at her and shrugged,

"So?"

Fehn shrugged back at him, lowering her gaze, she twiddled her thumbs,

"It's the first dream I've ever had in Skyrim. Ever since I got here, I've had nothing but nightmares."

Keeping his clear eyes on her, he said sarcastically,

"Charming."

Looking up at him, Vilkas said,

"And I suppose if I went to Cyrodiil I would dream of the Night Mother sticking a knife in my back and of ice wraiths stabbing at my belly with their frozen swords?"

Frowning, Fehn spat quietly,

"Forget it."

They sat in silence again. The chill in the air felt good against her shoulder. She had since forego her steel armour in favour for some scaled armour she had scavenged from a female bandit, and managed to plunder two one-handed swords and kept her axe in her pack. Shivering in the night air, she leaned back and retrieved her bedroll and wrapped it around herself. Vilkas' eyes drifted over the small Imperial. Pointing, he stated,

"That's a strange scar you have there."

Fehn's eyes widened, staring down at her shoulder which was peeking out from under the cover of the bedroll, she nodded slowly at the memory of the pain.

"Yes it is isn't it? A necromancer in Helgen blasted me with a spell…The healer who tended me couldn't remove the scarring, but…"

She trailed off as Vilkas stared at her,

"But what?"

Dragging her gaze from her shoulder, she looked at him – the light from the fire danced along her face,

"But I don't mind it. As long as people know I don't back down in fights."

Vilkas nodded his head at that and remarked, his voice was expressionless,

"Noble."

Covering the red scar, Fehn massaged the ruined flesh habitually.

"And the face?"

Fehn's eyes darted up,

"Beg pardon?"

Vilkas ran a rough finger along his cheek and then nodded to her,

"Your face, the scar there, how did you get that?"

Fehn traced the familiar contour along her cheek and felt a pang of remorse,

"An accident…long ago. My brother…He, uh, he did it by accident."

Vilkas gave her a lop-sided smile; he knew how stupid his own brother could be. Once, when they were small, Farkas had dropped a whole basket of nails on his head,

"Is he back in Cyrodiil?"

Fehn shook her head, Vilkas saw her eyes darken and she mumbled,

"No. He's dead. He was killed by a band of Nords."

Vilkas watched her; she didn't have any other emotion on her face other than sadness. Scuffing his boots, he felt a slither of pity for the girl, he knew how distraught he would be if anything happened to Farkas,

"Do you hate us then?"

Her eyes flicked up to him in an instant, suddenly her temper flared,

"You're very curious. And no, I don't hate all Nords, I've met some very good people here, what I hate are stupid Nords who think they own everything they touch. I hate Imperials who think they can dominate everyone just because they have some coin; I hate elves that have their heads far too far up their own arses. But what I hate most is people who assume things when something vaguely relates to them. Did you kill my brother?"

Vilkas frowned and leaned back, shocked by her sudden anger,

"What? No!"

She nodded, her eyes fiery with ire,

"Exactly, so don't ask stupid questions like 'do you hate all Nords?' It's totally redundant."

Pulling at her bedroll, she retreated back from the fire and lay with her back to Vilkas. Like steel cooling after being thrust in a fire, she exhaled and only felt sorrow as tears poured from her eyes. Trying to conceal her woe, she held her breath and tried to stop crying. Soon enough, the tears slipped out soundlessly and she became lethargic, closing her eyes she thought of her brother and dozed back away to sleep and hoped she would dream again before the jade lights died away.


	12. Ivarstead

Chapter XII – Ivarstead

"Fine, I'll walk."

Vilkas gritted his teeth and rubbed his eyes in frustration. Fehn could feel her own fatigue seeping into her bones too, but the fact that her horse had to die was just downright bad timing. In the week that they had been travelling, Fehn and Vilkas hadn't really spoken much, less so after Fehn had scolded him by the fire. After that night, they mostly just grunted to one another and gave curt nods. In fact, Fehn had stopped using Vilkas' name, instead referring to him as 'Hey' or 'You' or simply just a wave to get his attention. In battle they seemed to synchronize quite well, but in a civil and adult setting where they had to speak politely to one another. It was a no go, and now that Fehn's horse had died they had a bit of a dilemma.

"Why don't I just start walking back to Whiterun and you can take the damn horse! Why did you try and jump that anyway? What did you think the horse would sprout wings?"

Fehn scowled at him, both of them were exhausted. They had been harried by necromancers along the road and they were too many for just her and him alone, so in a vain attempt to outrun them they had forwent sleep and rode all through the night. Rounding on him, she shook her head and hissed,

"Well why don't you. I hope you run into the necromancers and they kill you, drag you out of Sovngarde and kill you again!"

He made a fist and leaned in close,

"Don't push me, woman."

Raising her eyebrows, Fehn took a step forward and ever so gently pushed him backwards. By the time his foot was behind him, he was already lunging at her. Throwing a punch at her face, she ducked and kicked at his calves. She grunted in pain as she smacked her foot against his iron greaves,

"Ha-ha! 'Kodlak, I want a heavily armoured Companion!'"

He mimicked while throwing her down. Winded, she rolled over as he slammed his foot down and got behind him. Jumping on his back, she held her arm around his neck and wrestled him to the ground,

"Go down, you oaf!"

She cried as he lurched around trying to shake her.

"Ah! Get off, you damned…letch!"

Suddenly, the sound of a horn blasted in the distance. They froze like a pair of hunted deer, Fehn still gripped onto his back – a handful of his hair wrapped tightly around her fingers. Hurling his wild gaze out to the sound of the horn, he tried to determine whereabouts the noise came from. Tapping on her forearm that was wrapped around his neck, she unlaced herself from his back and landed on the ground next to him. Still looking out over the hills, Vilkas turned and threw Fehn up onto his hunter and jumped on the horse behind her.

"We'll replenish the bags from your horse once we're clear."

He dictated shortly. Fehn nodded and they were off.

Crashing along the road, the hooves of Vilkas' horse thundering on the ground, Fehn felt breathless at the speed in which the animal was keeping. They rode hard and fast for a good portion of the day and by the end of it, Fehn reckoned Vilkas was ready to drop. Insisting that they stop and have a break, Vilkas agreed and they broke away from the road and made a little camp in a secluded grove that was big enough for Vilkas' hunter. Fehn collected fire wood and relented to cook some chicken breast while Vilkas tied up his horse to a low-hanging branch. They ate silently and quickly, Fehn resided to keep watch while Vilkas slept. She sat with her back up against the large hunter and felt his flanks expand slowly and soothingly with each long breath. Eventually Fehn found herself slowing her own breathing down and keeping tune with the horse, she dozed off to sleep.

_Dovahkiin…you're answering us. You're answering your call. Hurry, Dovahkiin, hurry, I fear time is short._

About an hour later Fehn's eyes fluttered open. Blinking in the darkness, she looked up and Vilkas was standing over her, his hands on his hips,

"I thought you were 'keeping watch'."

Fehn was instantly annoyed,

"You want to fight about it?"

A bark of laugher escaped him and he said,

"We wouldn't have been fighting anyway if we'd have been found sleeping like babes. We would have been sitting ducks ready for the killing. Until I woke up and kept watch that is."

Fehn rolled her eyes and got to her feet,

"Oh, well aren't you brilliant."

Vilkas flashed a wolfish grin and folded his arms over his chest. Without warning, suddenly his blue eyes widened in the darkness, the sound of an arrow embedding itself into his shoulder dully sounded in the grove. With a grunt, the large man stumbled forward, catching him; Fehn could make out his grimace. Quickly thrusting the injured Companion aside, she brandished her own bow and crashed through the underbrush searching for the silent attackers. Following her own instincts, she soon heard the betraying sound of their footsteps. Nocking an arrow, she aimed in the muted ambiance of the moonlight. The sound of twigs snapping underfoot caused her to whirl around and loose her arrow in the direction. The arrow flew through the thick foliage and connected with flesh. With the sound of a pained grunt and the dull thud that followed, Fehn nocked another arrow and strained her ears to listen for any more assailants. While aiming blindly in the darkness, she heard an arrow split through the leaves and land by her foot. With a quick roll, she kneeled behind a tree and fired her bow at the shadowy attacker. She didn't hear a pained scream or any other sounds. Frowning, she swapped her bow for her sword and scolded herself for leaving her other one at the grove. Silently as she could, she padded through the darkness. Shafts of moonlight streamed down from between the leaves and branches, Fehn kept her eye on them for any obscurities which would alert her to an enemy. Coming to a halt, her eyes darted around the woods. With a gasp she heard the creak of her attacker's wooden bow as he or she took aim. Hurtling herself towards the sound, she swung her sword down brutally with a cry. There was a sickening crunch of bone being crushed as she sliced through the attacker's collarbone, gasping, she let go of her sword and clutched her belly. An arrow was sticking out of her. Just to the side above her thigh, she hissed in agony and had to wrestle with her sword to free it from the attacker's crumpled body. Gripping her side, she stumbled back to the grove. Vilkas was hunched over, his heavy armour was partially removed – the bodies of several of their attackers littered the grove around him. At her intrusion, he turned on her and held his sword to her throat. Raising her hands, she exclaimed,

"Whoa, it's me!"

She watched as his eyes remained almost feral as he gripped the hilt of his sword and pressed the cold blade up against her neck. Gently, she pushed the sword away and reassured him softly,

"Vilkas, it's me."

He seemed taken aback and shook his head. With another grimace, he placed a hand over the arrowhead that was sticking out of his shoulder. Clicking her tongue, Fehn moved towards him and asked,

"Do you want me to snap it at the back?"

Mutely he nodded, a scowl played on his gruff face as he kept his intense eyes on the shadows of the grove, his instincts still insisting that he keep an eye out for anymore enemies. Leaning behind him, Fehn shuddered as pain rocketed up her side and abdomen, supressing a pained grunt; she grasped the wood of the arrow and said,

"Alright, one, two…"

Vilkas hissed as she snapped the arrow on two and pulled out the arrowhead at the front of his shoulder. Retrieving linen from his pack, she bandaged the wound and tried to ignore the pain from her own wound. Thanking her, he turned and his eyes examined her, he frowned when he saw the patch of blood which stained the sandy fur of her armour. Kneeling down, he looked up at her and asked,

"Where you shot? It didn't go through very far…"

Fehn shook her head and allowed him to pry the arrow from her thigh.

"No, more stabbed than shot. It'll be alright though; I don't think their arrows were poisoned."

Vilkas agreed and pulled the arrow free, passing her a healing potion, she drank while he bandaged her up.

"We have to get moving."

He stated flatly. Getting to his feet, he tracked down his hunter and helped Fehn onto the beast. Retrieving his armour and shield, he sheathed his sword and passed his pack up to Fehn to hold and swung himself up and onto the horse. Gripping the reigns, he guided the hunter as quietly as possible out of the grove and onto the road. Lodged between Vilkas' arms as he drove the horse onward towards Ivarstead, Fehn found herself slipping in and out of slumber. When she awoke she saw the dusky trees of auburn and bronze as the horse galloped under them. The leaves fell slowly and lazily in the dull morning light - fog pervaded the air making the wood seem much more mysterious. They rode for another half hour or so before they reached a white stone bridge, a small hamlet nestled on the other side. Squinting in the sunlight, Vilkas said gruffly – his voice hoarse,

"And here we are. Ivarstead."

Storing his hunter in Ivarstead's stables, Vilkas and Fehn made their way to the hamlet's little inn. It was quaint and cosy, and after the gruelling travels of the last week, Fehn and Vilkas were both ecstatic about a hot meal and a warm bed for the night. Vilkas nodded for her to pay for two rooms and left her to go and speak to a guard. Fehn made her way over to the barkeep. Smiling at him, the big man smiled back, his red and round cheeks shone like apples as he welcomed her,

"Ah, welcome traveller. Welcome to Vilenmyr Inn! My name is Wilhelm, and what can I do for you today?"

Fehn beamed at his mirth. After a week with a sour like Vilkas it was a treasure to speak to someone cheerful for a change. Dipping her hand into Vilkas' coin purse, she said,

"Good day, Wilhelm. I'd like to rent two rooms please, one for me and my companion over there."

Wilhelm peered over her head. Vilkas turned away from the guard and saw the barkeep looking, Vilkas lifted his arm by way of greeting, and Wilhelm smiled and nodded,

"Hail Companion!"

With that Vilkas resumed his conversation with the guard and Wilhelm turned back to Fehn,

"Ah, yes. The Companions are always welcome here at my inn. Alright, two rooms? That's wonderful; can I interest you in any food or mead?"

Fehn shook her head and said,

"Not me, it might Vilkas,"

Turning, she beckoned him. Vilkas turned and nodded his head. Tossing his coin purse over to him, Fehn called,

"You get food and mead for yourself, I'm going to wash and get a rest."

Wilhelm smiled pleasantly, extending a podgy hand, he said,

"Of course, I'll have some water heated and sent to your room. Will you dine later tonight?"

Fehn nodded and watched as he slipped out from behind the bar and waddled around to stand before her,

"Excellent, milady. Let me show you to your room."

Fehn sighed and lay back in the wooden tub of hot water. Her hair was wet and slicked back; closing her eyes she allowed the water to gently wash the tension from the last week from her body. Gazing down at her bandaged thigh, she gave another sigh of disappointment that she'd have to cut her bath short for the sake of her linen binds. Hoisting herself out of the tub, she placed a dripping foot on the linen that covered the floor around the tub. Wrapping herself in rough towels, she dried herself quickly and dressed herself in a belted tunic. She watched as a pair of servers came and took the wooden bath out of her room, waving them off she smiled and closed her door. Scampering over to her bed, she clambered under the heavy furs and wriggled to get comfy. Closing her dark eyes she soon fell asleep.

Fehn awoke a while later with moonlight streaming through her room window. Blinking in the blue hue that bathed her room, she could hear merry laughter from the mead hall and the chatter of men and women as they drank their mead and ale. Getting up, she gazed in the mirror on her wall. Styling her hair into a more publicly suitable fashion, she turned her face and stared at the scar on her cheek. Running her slim fingers along the groove, Fehn closed her eyes and ignored the feeling of grief that ravaged her heart. Finally opening her eyes, she stared at her own reflection. Flashing a smile, she reassured herself and walked out of the room. The mead hall was bustling and merry, with a bard playing his lute and singing a jaunty tune. Wilhelm, the barkeep was smiling while handing out tankards of mead and plates of food. Combing the mead hall, Fehn picked out Vilkas who was sitting with some large and burly men, to her surprise he was actually laughing and smiling. At once she felt a little more at ease. Walking over to him, the men jeered playfully at her approach. Vilkas turned and waved them away. Getting to his feet, he gently took her elbow and led her to an alcove,

"I thought you were abed."

Vilkas said in a hushed tone. Fehn shrugged and said simply,

"I woke up."

With that, he leaned back on the wall and asked,

"Are you hungry?"

He smiled when she rounded,

"Ravenous."

They ate well and drank much. Fehn was wedged cosily between Vilkas and Wilhelm – the barkeep joined them as soon as he declared last orders. Fehn smiled and laughed as Wilhelm and Vilkas swapped stories over her head and watched as the bard continued to play into the night. After a large meal and a fair amount of mead, Fehn got to her feet and declared,

"Alright gentlemen, I must retire!"

They booed and banged their tankards on the wooden tables. Many of them had buxom women in their laps and were exceedingly drunk and good-humoured. She laughed at their mirth and enthusiasm. However, she shook her head and excused herself from the night's revels and skipped quickly across the mead hall on bare feet to her room. Fehn turned when she felt a hand on her arm,

"Shall I follow you to High Hrothgar tomorrow?"

Asked Vilkas, from the tone of his voice, Fehn could tell he was perfectly sober. Thinking for a moment, she nodded and said evenly,

"If you want to, although if you want to remain down here and wait, that's fine too."

He frowned and then nodded,

"Alright, I'll escort you then. I hear there's trolls in the mountains. Can't have you eaten before you see the Greybeards can we?"

Fehn's eyes widened,

"How'd you…?"

Vilkas looked at her sceptically and scoffed,

"Please, a pilgrimage to the Throat of the World? You have to speak to a 'teacher'; the dragons…Even Farkas could have figured it out."

Fehn laughed and leaned her head against a wooden pillar. Staring at him, she confirmed,

"Alright, you're right. So you'll come up there with me?"

He nodded, and said,

"Yes, Kodlak would be very annoyed if I let you die before you could repay your debt. Go and get some rest, I'm going to finish up the rest of my mead first then I'll retire too."

Fehn dipped her head and joked,

"No dreams of the Nightmother for you then?"

Vilkas laughed and shook his head,

"No, no. No dreams of her for me. You'll find that even in Skyrim I rarely dream."


	13. Of Thu'um and Throat

Chapter XIII – Of Thu'um and Throat

Panting from exertion, Fehn dropped and placed her blue hands on her knees. Her teeth chattered as the wind whipped her hair around. She gasped as she felt Vilkas grip her around the waist and push her onwards,

"Come on, don't stop or you'll freeze!"

Fehn nodded and shrugged him off and staggered up another flight of slippery stairs. She had the Greybeard's provisions slung over one of the slight shoulders. Cursing the height of the mountain and the weight of the sack, she slipped and the sack fell to the ground. Vilkas watched as the Imperial screamed with frustration and kicked the sack. Sitting down, she buried her face under her arms and curled her knees up and began to shiver. The wind howled, Vilkas picked up the provisions and knelt down beside her. Placing a big gloved hand on her shoulder, he watched as she raised her head out of her ball and gazed at him. Her nose was red and her lips and eyes puffy. Like a child, her eyebrows were downturned; she looked thoroughly sad and fed up. Vilkas laughed at her comically down-trodden exterior which made her laugh too. Helping her up, he gave her a pair of leather gloves from his pack and slung his massive cloak over her head and shoved her onwards. They passed several others on the mountain. Some were praying and others were pilgrimaging as they were. One of the pilgrims pointed them towards a small shrine were they could sit and rest themselves for a moment before resuming the journey. Following the pilgrim's directions, Fehn and Vilkas made a small fire and cooked some of the beef Wilhelm had given them for their journey. Warming herself, Fehn held Vilkas' cloak close and huddled beside the flames – near enough to be classed as in the fire.

"Ah, Skyrim's weather will toughen even the softest right up, eh?"

Fehn nodded and stuffed her hands under her armpits for extra warmth,

"H-how'd you people bear it?"

Vilkas shrugged and checked the beef,

"I suppose it's just written in our being. Just like the Redguards, how do they handle all that sun? Sand as far as the eye could see instead of trees and snow? Now that, my friend, that is madness."

Fehn agreed she couldn't imagine traversing a desert like the Redguard people did. It boggled her mind to think of being able to see nothing but sand or snow for that matter, she didn't particularly like one or the other on its own especially. The talk of sun instantly reminded her of home. She longed for Cyrodiil and its mild climate, warm summers and springs with lukewarm autumns and chilly winters. Seeing her distant look, Vilkas commented,

"You have the look of someone whose yearning."

Fehn gazed up over the fire. She had to admit that Vilkas was quick – maybe the only warrior she had ever met who wasn't a complete dullard or naivety. With a smile, she nodded,

"I was thinking of home."

She admitted shortly. Vilkas bobbed his head and checked the beef was cooking alright,

"Have you ever been out of Skyrim?"

She asked. Vilkas turned the meat on the spit and exhaled,

"Yes, not for a while mind you. When I was younger I travelled to Hammerfell with Aela – on a job. After that, Farkas and I went on a crusade to Morrowind. I've never been to Cyrodiil or anywhere else…I hope to one day, but Skyrim has my heart. I dare not leave my homeland in this time of upheaval…I am a true Nord, it would not be right."

Fehn cocked an eyebrow at the Nord,

"What about the war? Have you considered joining the Stormcloaks?"

Vilkas scoffed and said,

"I am a true Nord, and true Nords have always been a part of the Empire. The banning of Talos is what I believe to be the elven way of trying to supress the ascent of Man. As you know, Mer like to think of themselves as the only ones worth any form of ascension. I don't think the Emperor set out to offend Skyrim, although it was a cowardly bargain to make."

Fehn nodded and agreed,

"But you didn't answer my question."

She said slyly with a lop-sided smile. Vilkas raised his eyebrows and served the beef. Handing her a plate, he set down to eat his own while Fehn listened,

"I know Ulfric. He used to be in the Imperial Army, before my time of course. He came to Whiterun once and asked for the Companions aid – which of course, we gave. I won't go into what we had to do, but let's just say that the esteemed Jarl of Windhelm didn't have as many…aspirations as he does now. The killing of Torryg was uncalled for, but Ulfric needed a statement, he needed to present himself as formidable. This tirade against the Empire is pointless, if the Stormcloaks win all it will mean is that we have fewer men to band in the case the Aldmeri bastards decide to strike. Ulfric forgets that he is fighting his fellow man…Something I find abhorrent, most of those Legionares are Nords anyway, and I guarantee most – if not all of them – worship Talos in secret and are just waiting it out like the rest of us. I think Ulfric is using this war as a well-planned distraction so he can seize more land and get himself known."

Fehn blinked. She hadn't touched her beef. Looking down at the meat, she wondered if she had ever been on the right side…She loved the Empire, but it was corrupt and falling apart from the inside – any idiot could see that. With a sigh, she set aside her meal while Vilkas frowned,

"I saved his life."

She said shortly. Vilkas chewed slowly, his brow furrowed and he leaned in closer,

"Ulfric?"

Nodding, Fehn said,

"Yes…In the marshes down in Falkreath. I was…crossing the border when I ran into him."

Vilkas' eyes narrowed as she went on,

"He's actually the first Nord I came across in Skyrim. He and I were supposed to be executed in Helgen together. Yes, I was there when that dragon destroyed Helgen. I managed to escape with a Stormcloak soldier, he said I should join the Stormcloaks, but…I don't know. I can't join the Legion."

Vilkas frowned and asked,

"Does it have to be one or the other, the Stormcloaks or the Legion?"

Fehn sighed and shivered again,

"I don't know…I'll never be safe here in Skyrim until the Legion leaves. What better way to get rid of them than to join with the rebels? Moral or immoral, that's not important to me, Vilkas. I-I just want to be safe. I never want to put my head on a block and feel the blood from another man's neck on my face again. I don't want to hear the sound of a falling axe…"

She was cut off by a thundering roar. Instantly she and Vilkas were on their feet. Shirking off the heavy cloak, Fehn brandished both her swords while Vilkas came up alongside her with his sword and shield at the ready.

"Trolls."

He said quietly. Fehn didn't look at him, instead keeping her gaze locked on where the roar had come from. She had never seen a troll before so she had to rely on sound alone to identify the creature. Another roar was bellowed and suddenly Vilkas shoved her out of the way as a huge hulking white thing harried into him. Slipping on the icy ground, Fehn saw as Vilkas slammed into the Troll with his shield and hacked at it with his sword. Fehn was disgusted by the smell of the roaring, drooling white thing that attacked them. Getting over the initial shock, she weighed in on the fight. Slashing at the creature's back, she felt pain envelope her abdomen as one of its thick arms smashed into her, throwing the slight girl back. Gasping, she rolled over and ejected her breakfast. The troll roared and ran for her while she balked. Running behind the thing, Vilkas launched his sword at its back. It howled angrily as the Companion's sword struck it and buried itself in its back. Turning a beady eye on Vilkas it screamed its rage and charged at him. Unarmed with nothing but his shield, Vilkas battled in a contest of strength with the beast, with the troll obviously winning. Vilkas bared his teeth as the troll pressed up against his shield and roared deafeningly at him, covering him in the creature's drool. After taking a moment to recover and wipe her mouth, Fehn's eyes fell on the scene. Noticing Vilkas' sword sticking out of the troll's back, she ran for it. Sheathing one of her swords, she gripped the pommel of Vilkas' and pulled it free from the monster's furry back. Upon the blade leaving the troll's flesh, she was covered in black oily troll blood. Balking at the fluid, she tossed Vilkas' sword to him while she hunched over and retched. Vilkas extended an arm and caught his sword, with one final thrust; he impaled the troll and killed it. The creature fell to the icy ground with a growl. Panting, Vilkas dropped his sword and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Dragging his feet over to where Fehn was bent over being sick, he placed a hand on her back,

"Are you alright?"

Fehn's body trembled and she stood upright – here face was as white as the troll's fur. Nodding at him, she wiped her mouth again and tried to supress the urge to retch once more. Picking up his sword, Vilkas gathered up the Greybeard's provisions and pulled Fehn out of the shrine, resuming their journey up the mountain.

"You eat as we go."

Fehn was going to protest, but she was hungry. Putting the stinking troll out of her mind, she wiped the blood from her face with a rag and tucked into some beef while she and Vilkas scaled the 7000 steps. The journey was trying as the higher they went, the colder and windier it became. Taking turns of carrying the Greybeard's provisions, Fehn blinked back tears brought on by the endless wind. While she trudged on in a cold and unhearing haze, she was shaken out of her reverie of frozen misery by Vilkas,

"Look! Look up there; it's the Greybeard's temple!"

Fehn's downturned face was up in a flash beaming at the gray shadow in the distance. Gripping the provisions she broke into a run and whooped as Vilkas ran behind her. Like a whippet, the small Imperial managed to outrun the tall hulking Nord to the entrance of the temple. Laughing at him, he praised unwillingly,

"Quite fast for a milk drinker."

Fehn smiled and dropped the sack into the chest they had been instructed to by Klimmek. Turning to gaze up at the huge temple built into the rock face of High Hrothgar, she gasped.

"Whoa…That's impressive."

Vilkas nodded – not taking his eyes off the temple. Gingerly Fehn scaled the last of the steps which led up to two large oaken doors which would lead into the temple, the home of the Greybeard's. Taking a breath, Fehn said quietly,

"Okay, let's do this."

With that, she pushed open the huge doors and entered the Greybeard's temple.

The temple was eerily quiet. Fehn stepped tentatively inside while Vilkas shut the big doors as quietly as he could. Gazing around spacious stone structure, Fehn felt a shudder as she heard a whisper in the distance,

_Dovahkiin._

Turning in the direction of the whisperer, she caught a breath as a hooded man approached them. He had a kindly face and an understanding air about him. His clipped beard was as white as snow and his face was old and sunken. Extending his gnarled hands to Fehn, he beamed and said,

"Ah, to tread the 7000 steps is a feat of such endurance and bravery. One would need the heart of a dragon and the fortitude of a mammoth to visit us while we are so high up…Please, traveller, are you the one we called?"

Fehn bowed her head and said,

"Yes. I-I'm answering your summons."

The hooded man smiled and nodded. Suddenly he was joined by four others. All hooded and all as old as he. Most of them had white beards that were clipped in the same fashion. All of them gazed at her like she was some sort of rare bird. The first of them spoke,

"Then by all means, answer our call and let us hear your Voice."

Fehn faltered, not really sure what he was asking of her. Her brow knotted and she looked back at Vilkas. The big man shrugged and felt a little touched by her vulnerability. Gently he pushed her on the small of her back, stepping forward, the Greybeard smiled warmly,

"Do not be afraid of hurting us. Please, project your Thu'um onto us."

Fehn nodded and understood, although she was a little embarrassed about doing it. Inhaling deeply, she concentrated and bellowed,

"FUS!"

To her dismay they all stumbled back onto their backsides. Fehn was afraid she may have offended them. They stood up slowly and the one who seemed to be speaker for them gasped. His eyes were wide and he smiled broadly at Fehn,

"By Akatosh…You, you truly are Dovahkiin…Dragonborn. My name in Arngeir, "

He bowed to her and continued,

"Please allow me to bid you welcome to High Hrothgar, the Throat of the World and our home."

Bowing her own head, Fehn thanked him for his hospitality.

"Why did you call me?"

She asked slightly stilted, her nerves getting the better of her. Arngeir frowned at the question,

"Well, as we are some of the only masters of the Thu'um it seems only common sense that we would teach the Dragonborn, be it a him or her, we would always teach them to use and harness their gift for the greater good and not misuse their power."

With a nod, Fehn enquired,

"Please, what is a Thu'um? And could you tell me what Dovahkiin is?"

Arngeir smiled and waved her questions away,

"In due time, but these lessons are sacred and are for your ears only, "

Casting a gaze over Vilkas, Arngeir said,

"We will convene out in the courtyard in an hour, and then you will learn exactly who and what you are. Until then, Borri here will take you both to some adequate quarters were you can rest and eat. Warrior you must remain within the temple while we instruct the Dragonborn."

Vilkas nodded shortly. Arngeir kept a wary eye on him before turning back to Fehn,

"In an hour, Dragonborn."


	14. Unrelenting Force

Chapter XIV – Unrelenting Force

"FUSROH!"

Fehn felt the power push up and past her tongue as it blasted out of her mouth out into the white skies of Skyrim.

"Good, again."

Said Arngeir in his quelling voice, Fehn nodded and drew herself up and bellowed again,

"FUSROH!"

The air around her buzzed and trembled with the power that was forced out of her lungs. Her throat felt coarse, as though she had drank too much ale or wine. Clearing her throat, she coughed as Arngeir clapped his hands at her latest burst of power,

"Remarkable, absolutely remarkable, Dovahkiin."

Wiping the sweat from her brow she made a face at just how much she had sweated in the cold while atop the highest mountain in Tamriel. She smiled at the praise bestowed and accepted a rag offered to her by the Greybeard, Borri. Nodding to him, she turned to Arngeir,

"Dovahkiin?"

Arngeir smiled and laughed at her pressing nature. Taking her aside, he sat with her on a stone bench and they watched for a moment as the other Greybeard's practiced their own shouts and honed the use of their own Thu'um's.

"I suspect that you have heard the term "Dovahkiin" a lot these last few days or weeks?"

Fehn nodded and watched the old man as he spoke quietly,

"Well, Dovahkiin can mean one of three things, or a combination of the three. 'Dov' means 'dragon' and 'Kiin' means 'child' or 'born' in the dragon tongue. Of course then you have 'Dovah' which means 'dragon hunter'. When combined, the title is 'Born Hunter of Dragonkind." Or you could simply be Dragonborn. You are inadvertently either a Dov or a Dovah, dragon or a hunter of dragons. You are obviously 'born' else you and I would not be speaking now, but I must note your youth, so maybe Kiin would be a good way to describe you…What do you think you are, Fehn?"

Fehn thought for a moment. Obviously she had never been asked to ponder such a query, and she genuinely found it strange trying to determine exactly as she wished to be portrayed. She had slain a dragon once, but then she remembered the maddening sadness that consumed her doing so. Now that she had this question put to her, she wondered if it was a sort of fraternal or other bond towards the dragon. Furthermore, could she kill another one? Her heart ached at having to strike down such majestic creatures and then carry around their sorrow and anger in her heart when she absorbed their souls. As Arngeir had said, she took with her the very being of the dragon, their blood lust, their anger and rage, but also their woe and sadness – which surprisingly enough they seemed to have so much of. Suddenly she was aware of Arngeir staring at her waiting for an answer. Shrugging her shoulders, she muttered,

"I don't know. I just want to understand them, and through them maybe myself. If I'm a Dragonborn, and I have the soul of a dragon but the body of a mortal, should I not…I don't know…help them?"

Arngeir sighed heavily and replied thickly,

"Well that's the question isn't it? I don't think all dragons are inherently evil, I don't think – looking upon your face – that you are evil, but…It's not for anyone to say where your loyalties should lie. When I look at you I see a young Imperial in the company of a Nord man, one would say you are not a loyalist cavorting with another race of man. To be honest, child, only you can know if your sympathies lie with your kin, the dragons. But if you did decide to forego your human flesh and follow your dragon soul, it would signal the end for all. Men and Mer alike, Tamriel would crumble under the combined weight of the dragons and their most strangest of Kiin."

"Strangest?"

Fehn whispered. Arngeir let out a little chuckle of laughter,

"Out of all dragons, only you cannot fly. You would be an oddity to your brethren. Remember, you have the very soul of a dragon, which makes me wonder who your parents are. One of them would have had to have been Dovah at least. Oh do not look so sad, it is a great honour to be Dragonborn."

Fehn managed a smile,

"Yes…a great honour indeed."

Fehn was exhausted by the time she had finished her tuition in the courtyard. Arngeir lead her through the temple to a shrine of Akatosh.

"I'm sure you've heard of the god, Akatosh, yes?"

Fehn bobbed her head and followed the robed man further into the room. Placing his hand on the iron busk of Akatosh, he said in a voice that was trembling with admiration and reverence,

"Akatosh is the Dragon God of Time. A true god of power and the chief deity in which we revere here in Skyrim and indeed all over Tamriel. He is father to all, Fehn. I'm sure you know that in Cyrodiil he has a great chapel? The greatest in all of Tamriel,"

Fehn smiled, she had indeed seen the Temple of the One. Her father was an avid worshipper of Akatosh and made sure that he and his family adhered to every sacrament and blessing that Akatosh taught. A film of tears covered her eyes as she remembered her father's absolute love for the dragon god. He would pray before battle and before bed, but never before dinner. Arngeir mistook her smile for reverence and dipped his head,

"He is an amazing figure. You should pray here. It is a good time to gain clarity, Fehn, and to reflect on all you've learned. I will wait for you in the main hall when you are finished. Retrieve your companion and meet me in the main hall."

With that, the old man left her alone. Tapping her sides, she was a little uneasy of what she had to do. She had never been overly religious – as her father often scolded her for – but other than that, she felt she didn't really have much to be thankful for. She was stuck in a frozen country where her very nationalism was cause for her to be lynched in the street. With a sigh, she dropped to her knees and gazed up at the iron busk.

"Uh…"

She started stupidly. Finally, closing her eyes, she started again,

"Akatosh, Dragon God of Time. I-I hope you're looking after my family wherever they are. I hope you're watching me too…I need watching, no, I need guiding. If you're listening, you're a Dragonborn too…Please watch out for…"

Fehn stumbled in her prayer as she realised she had no one to pray for. Suddenly an acute and sharp pain of loneliness struck her. Tears slipped down her face and her shoulders slumped. Wiping her face, her wrist grazed against the amulet of Talos Frodner had given her a few weeks ago. Staring down at the golden cross, she closed her eyes and said,

"Please look out for Gerdur and her family. Little Frodner, even Hod – the miserable git that he is. Look after Ralof who's out fighting and every one of my brethren that I've sent to you…I hope they forgive me and please, please…Give me strength."

Fehn emerged from the shrine a little shaky after her experience. Fixing her armour, she made her way down to the quarters she was sharing with Vilkas while they were in the temple. She found him with a water stone sharpening his sword. Tapping on the door frame she entered the room.

"Hey, come on. Arngeir said we've to meet him in the main hall. I think he's booting us out."

Vilkas laughed and stood up. Placing his hands on his hips, he regarded her,

"You've grown."

Fehn shifted her weight and rolled her eyes while folding her arms,

"Oh, lovely, more short jokes?"

Vilkas chuckled and folded his own arms. Shaking his head, he said,

"No, no. Not that at all. After our travels together, I have to admit that you are a competent sword-arm, if not a little…heavy. But definite Companion material,"

Fehn beamed and unfolded her arms, Vilkas bowed his head and continued,

"Obviously I can't make the decision of your induction and future, but I can see that you are in need of companions and shield-brothers and sisters. I would be happy to vouch for you on our return to Whiterun."

Fehn smiled, bowed and accepted his praise and offer,

"I hope Kodlak agrees."

She said shortly. Vilkas unfolded his arms and cast his eyes up, smiling, he said,

"Oh, I think he will. Kodlak's never sent me on a pilgrimage with a potential Companion ever."

"Never?"

"Never."

Arngeir greeted them warmly as they entered the main hall. Fehn noted that Borri was standing out amongst his brothers and was slightly behind Arngeir.

"Ah, Dragonborn. You have trained in the way of the Thu'um and we have taught you much. Alas, we must retire to our studies."

Vilkas grunted and Arngeir eyed him,

"Yes, Warrior?"

Fehn watched as Vilkas shrugged,

"It's nothing, just…If she's Dragonborn, "

He said while nodding a head unceremoniously in her direction,

"Why can't she stay, y'know, so she can rest? I'm sure there's nothing worse than a _dead_ Dragonborn."

Fehn tried to remain serious, but was battling the smile that was trying to play on her face, Arngeir gazed over to her and a smile twitched his face. Stepping forward, he said,

"Well you see, Warrior. We live up here in seclusion, only Greybeard's can live here in the temple. The Dragonborn may stay where and when she wishes, however, you would be sleeping out in the courtyard. It was the will of the Dragonborn that we release her as soon as she had learned her shouts so that the both of you could make haste back down to Ivarstead. It was merely for your benefit alone, Warrior."

Vilkas stared blankly,

"Ah…"

Turning to Fehn, Arngeir motioned for her to come forward,

"Now, before you leave us, Dragonborn. A gift. Borri here will teach you the final word for Unrelenting Force, an extremely powerful shout. Since there is no real speaking in this lesson, you may stay and watch, Warrior. Now, Borri will send all his knowledge of the word of power 'Da' to you, Dragonborn,"

Borri stepped forward and made a gesture with his hands, as loudly as he dared, he uttered,

"Da."

The ground shook beneath them and Vilkas made a grab for his sword. Fehn waved him away and he watched captivated as the rune for 'Da' was embedded in the floor, lit up as if by embers. Leaning over the rune, Fehn learned it and turned to Borri as he took her hands in his own and transferred his knowledge unto her. Opening her eyes, Fehn could feel the power in her throat just ready to burst out of her mouth. Arngeir placed a hand on her shoulder as she thanked Borri,

"Now, Fehn, project for us Unrelenting Force."

All of them took several steps away from her. Seeing that Vilkas remained where he was Fehn tutted and pushed him back, he frowned at her and then saw that the others had moved away. Sheepishly he mouthed the word 'sorry' as she smiled and took a deep breath. _Concentrate_. She told herself earnestly,

"FUSROHDA!"

Stones fell from the ceiling and everyone fell to their knees at the ferocity of her shout. While she bellowed her own soul was on fire, she could feel the dragon inside her. It was invigorating to feel such power and raw energy soar out of her, like a dragon taking flight, so too did her Thu'um as is literally crashed out of her mouth. The Greybeard's all stood aghast at her power, while Vilkas stared dumbfounded. Arngeir said in a trembling voice,

"You are a true Dragonborn. By the blood in all my years I have never felt such an aggressive shout, not from any of us…not even young Ulfric could conjure such a bellow as you did…Bravo, child, bravo indeed."

Fehn smiled humbly as they praised her. Although she wondered what exactly Ulfric had studied with them, the Greybeard's had been tight-lipped about his tuition. Although she had probed Arngeir about his training, he had said nothing except hint that he was saddened that the Jarl had used his Thu'um to murder the High King. Finally Fehn and Vilkas said goodbye to the Greybeards and left the temple and set off down the mountain back down to Ivarstead and finally, back home to Whiterun.


	15. Where Alliances Lie

_*Quicknote* - Whoa! The response to this story has been ACE! Well, thanks so much, guys. Really appreciate the feedback this fic's getting, by all means read on and know that I am grateful *huggles* Oh and also, gonna' start putting a spoiler alert in here now since in the next chapter onwards it's gonna' get a lil' spoiler-ific!_

Chapter XV – Where Alliances Lie

"Ah! Our adventurer returns and with a Companion in tow!"

Fehn smiled as Hulda held her hands out to her and embraced the girl. Pushing her away gently, Hulda regarded the young Imperial,

"You look starved! Here, let me get you both some mead."

Vilkas smiled and thanked Hulda and they took seats by the fire. Fehn rubbed her hands together and looked over to Vilkas and smiled,

"You'll be glad to see the back of me after this pilgrimage."

Vilkas grinned and plucked his tankard of mead from the tray which Hulda held out,

"Well, I won't not-be-glad; I loathe spending more than a day with anyone, to be honest."

Fehn laughed and scooted over while Hulda took a seat next to her.

"So, tell me, travellers. What adventures have befallen you? And make no mistake, Vilkas, if you tell me that the both of you ran off to Riften to "worship" Mara, you're barred!"

Fehn didn't get the joke, but Hulda cackled warmly and Vilkas choked on his mead. She ended up laughing too simply because Hulda was laughing and mead was coming out of Vilkas' nose. Shaking his head, Vilkas made a swift recovery and said,

"No, no, nothing like that, I wouldn't I mean…"

Hulda waved her hands and chuckled,

"Oh, hush! And people say you're the smart one!"

Turning to Fehn, she placed a warm hand over Fehn's own hand and asked,

"So how did your venture go, child?"

Taking a sip of her mead, Fehn nodded and said,

"Yes it was alright, actually. I travelled up High Hrothgar for a bit of…soul searching."

Hulda's eyebrow cocked and she smiled again,

"Well, as long as you're safe, m'dear."

Fehn flashed a smiled at the Nord woman and bowed her head,

"Thank you for your concern, Hulda."

Draining the last of his mead Vilkas got to his feet and fixed his armour.

"I should return to Jorvaskrr. Come along when you've had a rest and washed the troll blood from your hair."

He grinned down at her and winked as Fehn placed a hand on her head and blushed,

"See you later, Hulda."

The mousy haired woman beamed at him,

"See you later, Vilkas!"

Placing her hands on her hips, she turned to Fehn and said,

"And here you are on my lap again, child. Fancy a bath and some delicacies?"

Fehn smiled and nodded,

"Delighted."

After a bath down in the kitchens and some thorough scrubbing, Fehn made her way up to her room and scurried over to her bag and rifled through it. She was looking for her fine-toothed comb when a piece of paper fluttered out of the pack. Frowning down at it, she picked it up and took it over to the light of a candle, sitting down on the bed she began to read it,

_I know who you are, and I know who it was you spoke to on High Hrothgar._

_Come to me at Ustengrav – we can speak more there. I have an item which will be of great use to you._

_Come and find me. Burn this._

_Sincerely, a friend_

Gazing up, Fehn frowned and read over the note again. _Ustengrav? _The name itself sounded familiar, but in a far off half-forgotten dream sort of way. Getting up, Fehn looked over her balcony overlooking the mead hall. Calling down to Saadia, the Redguard woman looked up,

"Did anyone come up here while I was bathing?"

Saadia shook her head and looked around. The only customer they had in was Torvar and he was sleeping at the bar in a boozy heap. Fehn nodded and leaned back into her room. Taking the note, she read over it one final time before throwing it into the fire and watching it burn into soft ash. Suddenly she heard the sound of the front doors to the inn crash open. Fehn grabbed her sword and slipped down the stairs quietly,

"And why d'you want to know?"

Asked Hulda testily, the man shook his head and begged,

"Please, I-I just must see her! Ah, there! Please, you have to come with me to Dragonsreach, the Jarl is most anxious to see you. He sent for you the minute the news of your return to Whiterun reached him."

Fehn eyed the man, he was small and nervous. Sheathing her blade, she nodded to Hulda who sheathed the dagger she was brandishing when he turned his back on her.

"Alright, give me a moment."

Turning away from them, she loped up the stairs and slipped into her scaled armour. Fixing her hands into her fingerless gauntlets, she equipped her second sword and was off. The streets of Whiterun were quiet as night had befallen some hours ago. Fehn asked the man who lead her through the streets,

"Why does Balgruuf wish to see me?"

The man shrugged and said,

"I'm not sure, but he was in a dreadfully awful mood when he sent for you. There has been some upheaval in Skyrim, something about the Stormcloaks."

Fehn quickened her pace,

"We should make haste then."

"That blasted fool! I will NOT be insulted like this! He does this y'know; he does this to treat me like Torryg! He would not dare come to face me directly – as a man! No! He would never waltz right up to me – Jarl Balgruuf the Greater – and shout me to death, no! But you know what he will do? Huh? He will send me his axe – his axe stained with the blood of innocents – He'll send me his axe and challenge me! He'll challenge me, Proventus! What do you think of that?"

The advisor had the wit to just shake his head. Balgruuf's eyes were aflame with passion as he bellowed his rage,

"A milk drinker is what he is! I will not be treated like this simply because I have not taken a side in a useless and resource-wasting war! What is a man to do? Ulfric wouldn't know because he is a boy! A boy who wants to have all his cake and eat it and anybody else's he can get his grubby paws on! He already took Elisef's husband, now he seeks to take MY kingdom! I will not stand for it!"

Fehn entered just in time to catch the tail end of Balgruuf's powerfully worded tirade aimed at Ulfric,

"You!"

He pointed at her,

"You failed to tell me that it was Ulfric Stormcloak that you were to be executed with at Helgen. Eh? You did not tell me THAT, madam!"

Fehn shrugged and said,

"Jarl, it was not necessary to tell you. This war between Jarls has absolutely nothing to do with me."

Balgruuf nodded mockingly and stamped over to her, prompting her to keep her instincts tuned to reach for her weapons,

"Oh, but it does, Dragonborn! It most certainly does! Here I have an axe and a letter. A letter which explicitly summons you! That's right, you're buddy Ulfric has learned that you are hiding out in my city and has summoned you to his court in Windhelm! Are you hiding from Legionares now in this city, madam? Because I'd advise you to leave this very night as I am just finished writing a letter to General Tullius and have asked to borrow some of his Imperial dogs to push back these Stormcloak scumbags! So I ask you now, Imperial, are you with me or against me?"

Fehn frowned and eyed Balgruuf, she would not be spoken to so. Jarl or not, in Cyrodiil, even the most lowly commoner had manners.

"Now listen here. I met Ulfric when I had my head on the block and the blood of a Stormcloak soldier seeping into my hair, it is not my doing if he wishes to summon me or not! I'm the one who went and got your stupid tablet, I'm the one who slew the dragon to defend YOUR keep, sir! So don't stand there and call me an enemy when I've been NOTHING short of an ally to you!"

Their faces were close and there was a poignant silence in the air. Balgruuf's veins in his neck bulged and he spat in an undertone,

"You have been an ally – I grant you that, but a spontaneous one to say the least, Imperial. How can I describe your being here as anything other than convenient, hmm? And now this connection and summons to Ulfric is something I simply just cannot ignore. Here, "

He tossed Ulfric's axe to her. Catching it, Fehn gazed at the Jarl,

"Take that to him in Windhelm! You take that to him and if you do not return to us here in Dragonsreach you will be declared an enemy of Whiterun and her people as long as I am Jarl! Now go! Go to your friend and declare him your enemy and return to me! For if you are an ally, you will forsake all others and remain a part of this empire!"

Fehn gawped at him and looked around Balgruuf's court. Everyone was shocked or at least mildly so. Even Irileth's was taken aback at her Jarl's actions. With a sigh, Fehn's eyes fell on Farengar and his assistant. Shaking her head she turned and left with Ulfric's axe in hand. Fehn was reeling as she stomped through the city. _Who in Oblivion does that pompous Nord think he is? _She though acidly as she charged up the stairs and into the Bannered Mare. Hulda was awake and sitting at the fire with a tankard of mead. Upon hearing her enter, she stood and eyed her carefully,

"Is everything alright, child? I was worried."

Fehn sighed and slid down the door. Dropping the axe, she felt Hulda come and kneel across from her,

"I am to go to Windhelm…Hulda; he thinks I'm some sort of Stormcloak spy."

Hulda clicked her tongue and patted her arm,

"But you're not are you, child? Why have you to go to Windhelm?"

With another sigh, Fehn reached over and held Ulfric's axe.

"He wants me to return Ulfric's axe to him…"

Hulda sucked in and eyed the axe. Fehn frowned, confused,

"What?"

Shaking her head, Hulda pointed to the axe,

"That's a fair challenge that one. One warrior giving another his axe is a sacred thing in Skyrim. There are but few simple truths why men and women do it, it could mean trust in which you allow your ally to cut down your foes for you, or it can mean take this axe and end me with it. Ulfric's poking the bear by giving this to Balgruuf, but our Jarl has to make a decision."

Fehn's eyes lowered,

"He's backing the Legion."

Hulda gasped and Fehn recoiled as a look of sheer anger and betrayal ravaged her face,

"That bastard, he can never call himself a true Nord! A milk drinking coward is what he is! You must go, child. Go now to Windhelm and give this axe to Ulfric, better for a warrior like you to be helping the right side."

Fehn shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut she screamed,

"No! No! No! This has nothing to do with me! I don't even know why that idiot summoned me!"

Hulda stopped her,

"Ulfric summoned you?"

Fehn nodded and hung her head,

"Yes, he sent Balgruuf a letter with the axe summoning me to his court. Hulda, what if he kills me there? I'm not a coward, but I'm not going to go somewhere that I know will get me killed…and he's not one for Imperials. I don't want my head mounted on a post as a testament to all Imperials that they are not welcome in his city and my fate is what awaits them."

Hulda hushed her and said soothingly,

"Be not afraid, child. If Ulfric has summoned you it will be for a lawful and civilised talk. Rebel or not, he is still a Nord and Nord men keep to a set of customs of hospitality, child, it's one of the reasons I didn't throw you out the moment you walked in here. Just keep your wits about you and no harm will come to you…or you can always mention my name to Galmar."

Fehn looked up,

"Galmar?"

Hulda looked down – a secret smile on her face.

"He is Ulfric's general, if he wants you to be vouched for, you mention my name. He knows me to be a very good judge of character. Now, you must go. I have a mare in the stables you can take her if you promise not to kill her and bring her back. Am I clear?"

She said in mock strictness. Fehn smiled and nodded her head,

"Alright, I'll go…for you, mostly."

Hulda chuckled and patted Fehn's cheek,

"You're one of mine now, and I look after my own."

Hulda kept to her word as Fehn being one of her own and gave her note to the owner of the stables saying she could take her mare – Amicus. She also gave her a week's worth of provisions in food and mead and a travelling cloak. Leading the girl to the back entrance of the inn, the woman frowned down at the padlock,

"Hmm, this has been opened? Must have been Saadia."

She said with a shrug, turning to Fehn, Hulda placed a hand on her shoulder gently and cautioned,

"You be wary on those roads, and mind and follow the main road. Windhelm's about a two day's ride from here non-stop, but you have enough food there to last you if you decide to make a stop. Alright, child, be well and Talos preserve you. I hope to be seeing you soon, yes?"

Fehn nodded and was surprised when Hulda hugged her tightly. Returning the woman's warm embrace, Fehn sighed and was gladdened that she at least had a friend in Hulda.

Slipping her hood over her head, Fehn came to a halt just before the large gates of Whiterun,

"Halt right there!"

Turning to stare at the guard, Fehn asked sweetly,

"Yes?"

The guard was not swayed,

"Who are you and where are you off to so late at night?"

Fehn raked her mind for an answer,

"Uh, I'm delivering something for the Jarl. Feel free to go up and ask him."

The guard sighed and his shoulders slumped. The night shift was obviously trying him. With a shrug he allowed her to pass with a simple,

"Alright then."

The night air was bracing against her skin and looking up to the sky, Fehn smiled as the beautiful emerald lights danced around two ruby moons. Skyrim was indeed a beautiful land, if not only populated by a few beautiful people. Running along the road with her cloak swirling behind her, she stopped outside the stables. Even at this hour a man was sitting on a wooden chair gazing up at the lights that pervaded the heavens,

"Ah, the night is beautiful this evening is it not, traveller?"

Fehn nodded and returned her gaze to the sky,

"Indeed it is, my friend. I've come here to borrow a horse."

The man laughed and waved his hands,

"I do not allow my horses to be borrowed! Show me some coin and I'll give you one."

Fehn exhaled and produced Hulda's note. Giving it to the man, he squinted as he read it.

"Ah, you want Amicus? A fine mare not had the chance to stretch her legs in weeks the poor beast. Hold on and I'll saddle her for you."

Fehn waited impatiently as the man saddled the creamy mare. He led Amicus out by her reigns and the mare hopped from hoof to hoof in her excitement. Fehn warmed to the creature immediately, stroking her blond mane, Fehn cooed,

"Well aren't you a pretty girl?"

The man scoffed and said,

"She'll get you to wherever you're going."

Fehn thanked him and tossed him a gold coin for his trouble. Tipping his hat, he sat back down and returned his attention to the sky and said,

"Ah, with a night like this to watch over you, I'm sure no danger will befall you. How could anyone do anything while a sky like that glitters above you?"

Fehn had to agree with that and nodded,

"You'd be surprised."


	16. Ulfric Stormcloak

Chapter XVI – Ulfric Stormcloak

Amicus threw her head back and let out a snort as snow landed gently on her nose. Fehn smiled at the mare as she playfully twitched her tail and bucked her hooves.

"Whoa, easy, girl, it's just a bit of snow, come on now."

Kicking her heels into her flanks, Fehn spurred the mare on softly. She had been on the road for three days, her journey had been uneventful with only one attack coming from wolves and Amicus had dealt with them. When she had asked a traveller for directions to Windhelm he had simply advised her to "look out for snow." As such, she had come across a great deal of it in the last day – much more than usual. The cold was biting in this region of Skyrim. Hugging her cloak close, she and Amicus rode through Eastmarch at a steady pace. The snow was falling at an equally steady pace and Fehn was quite entranced by it. In Cyrodiil there was the odd snowfall, but it usually occurred over night and almost never lay for more than a few hours. She decided that she did like snow, but only when there was no wind to blow it in her eyes and if it fell quietly and peacefully. It was almost hypnotic the way the little buds of white fell making her giggle at being such a foreigner. Amicus' ears twitched at her laughter and Fehn shook her hair free of the snowflakes which peppered her dark head. Exhaling a white plume of air, Fehn's mind drifted to the meeting she was to have with Ulfric. She could feel the weight of his axe on her back, thinking of him now; she couldn't even remember what he looked like. Of course, she had been in a heated frenzy of exertion and maddening fatigue. The slashing and screaming, all she could really remember was that she had defended him and then left him. The memory was hazy and vague, that bastard, Maro was there, and she remembered him.

_You'll burn for this one. _

_She grunted as an Imperial soldier held her down by the neck, another two holding both her arms out. Holding her own sword above her head, Maro cruelly pondered whether or not to slice her head off right then and there._

_No._

_He said in a voice like silk. Casting a wry glance over to his captured Stormcloaks; he turned to Fehn and knelt down so his lips were at her ear, _

_I've thought of a better way to convict you._

_Fehn wriggled and screamed like an enraged bear. Managing to free her neck from the grip of the soldier, she head-butted the general and watched him recoil, _

_You crazed bitch! Take her away!_

Closing her eyes, she felt an icy hatred grip her. Maro had sullied her name within the ranks of the Legion and condemned her to this country with no escape or way to ever return home. _Will I ever see the city again? _She wondered as Amicus' hooves padded along in the snow. There was no sun in the white skies of Skyrim, so swollen were they with snow and fog. It pained her to think that she would never see a blue sky again and feel the heat of the sun as intensely as she used to. She so missed the sun. Shuddering, she tried to forget the past and focus on the future; she tried to think of what she would say to Ulfric when she met him again. Fehn cringed at the thought of the Jarl seeing her in such a deranged way when they had met in the marshes. She was totally maddened by the time she reached Falkreath, feral and savage was the only way to describe her then. Bare footed with a mane of unkempt hair, drenched in blood; she must have looked completely wild. Although Fehn had done her best to forget the familiar madness that seemed to engulf her during combat, she couldn't forget that she became an unrestricted murderer then, and it was apparent. She remembered the Stormcloaks in the carriage had given her unsettled looks as she giggled in her mirth at the blood on her shoulders and torso. Obviously by the time they had reached Helgen, for decorum sake alone, some Legionares had washed the blood from her face and dressed her in a plain tunic. They would never execute one of their own in their own livery. That would make them look like monsters. Then of course, she woke up. She woke up as Fehn and not a crazed one woman army, no. She was just Fehn. Soft-spoken, obedient and gentle Fehn. It was often said within the ranks of the army that her bravery came from her stupidity and naivety alone, but she wasn't stupid or naïve, as Maro came to realise when he tried to have her killed. Cursing him, she scowled as she rode in silence, trying to hush her very thoughts as she made her way to Windhelm.

Much to her dismay Windhelm's reputation for being a cold melting pot for prejudice and violence proceeded itself. Leaving Amicus in the stables, the elf that ran it pertly prompted her to be careful and not offend any of the Nords within the city. Apparently this meant the guards as well, because within a minute of her entering the city walls, she was promptly smacked over the back of the head and told to keep out of trouble. Gingerly massaging her head, she hissed as the pain receded to a dull throb. Windhelm was none the less, a very impressive city. It was built atop a frozen summit and the blue-black stone was covered in glistening icicles which gave the city a very ethereal feel to it. The braziers that littered the city were by definition crowded with a lot of homeless Nords and general Dunmer standing around them warming themselves. After wandering around the frozen city wistfully, Fehn found herself in somewhere referred to as the Stone Quarter. Beckoning a guard, he looked down his nose at her and sneered,

"What is it, Imperial?"

Fehn shrugged off his rudeness and said,

"I'm looking for the residence of Ulfric Stormcloak…Can you tell me where I might find him?"

The guard's hackles were up and in a moment he brandished his iron war hammer,

"Why's an Imperial like you want to know, eh?"

Fehn backed away and shook her head defensively,

"No, look. I have a delivery from Whiterun that I have to make. Can you take me to the Jarl please?"

The guard seemed a little disgruntled by her politeness, putting his hammer away he nodded.

"Alright, I'll take you. But don't you try and pull a fast one on me, Imperial fox."

Fehn relented and fell into a step behind the guard as he led her through the city. Many of the residents who had seen the interplay whispered behind their hands about Imperial missives and spies. The guard led her towards a hulking great palace that seemed to take up a whole district. Staring up at the impressive structure, Fehn uttered,

"By Akatosh…"

The guard chuckled,

"Bet you don't see that in Cyrodiil do you?"

Fehn shook her head, mute. Indeed she did not. In Cyrodiil everything was flowing and almost golden, here everything was hard and sturdy, blue in its nature and unwelcoming in its presence. Fehn shook herself and followed the guard into the Palace of Kings.

Inside the palace was well lit and welcoming. Much to Fehn's delight, she was afraid that she was actually being led to a huge jail where she would have to crack rocks and mine ore under the whip of a bulky Nord. Luckily that wasn't the case and she was led inside the beautifully decorated palace without a scene. The guard stopped before the throne of Ulfric Stormcloak and announced,

"My lord, some Imperial here to see you, muttering something about a delivery from Whiterun."

Ulfric nodded calmly to the guard and waved him away,

"That will be all, soldier. Thank you for bringing her to me."

The guard bowed and slammed his fist against his chest before leaving them alone. Fehn gazed up at him, she could remember him now. His ruddy blond hair was pulled back to show a simple and honest face, his beard was trimmed and pleated, his livery was rich and warm. He eyed her with calculation and leaned forward in his throne. Rubbing his large hands together, he said finally,

"I find you much changed since Falkreath. Although I don't doubt that you were under tremendous stress when we last met."

Fehn frowned up at him and he chuckled,

"Excuse my political parlour, what I mean to say is, you look well."

Fehn nodded and sighed. Unsheathing his axe, she held it out to him,

"This is yours."

She stated simply. Reaching out for the axe, Ulfric commented,

"It takes a lot of bravery to bring such a message on one's back as this axe does so certainly signify. Do you know what this means, Imperial?"

Fehn shrugged,

"You'll kill Balgruuf?"

Ulfric looked over his blade and frowned,

"No, it means that one man will take something from another. One will be left disgraced and with nothing…As I am sure, you are well acquainted with. I will take Balgruuf's city of Whiterun and thus own the heart of Skyrim; it is a very promising tactical base. One that I intend to get. How now, Imperial, what say you of all this?"

Fehn's dark eyes bored into his blue ones, taking a breath, she said,

"I say what I mean, and what I mean to say is nothing."

Ulfric Stormcloak laughed at that, slapping his knee he said,

"So you are a politician? Well that explains why you were being executed then. I'm sure you are wondering why I rudely summoned you here and put your life in the balance by exposing you as an enemy of the Empire to Balgruuf?"

Fehn nodded,

"I had wondered, yes."

Running a hand along the blade of his axe, Ulfric said plaintively,

"Well to put it simply, I've heard of your feats. I've heard or your pilgrimage and I know what you are. I've also heard of the circles you've been travelling in, all of this on top of you being the Legion's public enemy number one and the fact that you escaped Helgen alive makes me wish to have you on board in my camp. One of my soldiers, Ralof, you remember him?"

Fehn nodded,

"Yes, Ralof came to me and told me of you. He told me that you had a fine sword-arm, but I wasn't really convinced. After all, last time I saw you swing a sword I mistook you for a crazed Forsworn. Then I heard of your battle in Whiterun, the Battle for The Watchtower has reached ears far and near, and tales of the Dovahkiin are growing. Your legend is on the ascension, and I think you might be able to tip the scales and help liberate Skyrim once and for all."

Fehn averted her gaze while Ulfric returned his blade to its place on his belt. Staring at her, he leaned back comfortably on his throne and gazed at her steadily,

"What would you have me do?"

She asked, Ulfric frowned at the question,

"I would have you fight for your right to be here, Imperial. I've learned of the paltry excuse the Imperial's tried to have you killed for, and the subsequent replacement excuse they came up with upon our meeting. If you and I are going to be branded as conspirators and partners in mutiny of the Legion, why not act upon it? If you are as capable as I've heard then – under my guidance – we could flourish into the dynamic partnership the Legion has already created for us. Although unluckily for them, they didn't get to end it by executing us in Helgen."

Fehn's brow furrowed as she thought furiously weighing her options. If she did cast her lot with the Stormcloaks then she would almost certainly never be able to return home. This was a heavy price for her, but on the other hand, she was in by more than a margin too deep to re-join the Legion. Scrutinizing Ulfric's face as he regarded her carefully, he said,

"I know your burden, for I have seen that look of someone who misses their home. But you could make a home here, once it is safe for you. All you have to do is help us run these Imperial scumbags out."

Fehn scowled,

"What am I? Am I an 'Imperial scumbag'?"

Ulfric glowered at her testiness and said with conviction,

"Help us and it won't matter where you come from. I used to be a Legionare like you; I know what they would do to you if you go back. I know what General Maro had planned in that marsh and I know exactly how you feel. A life of one soldier to another is not so different, as long as you give as well as you're given, then anyone who complains will have me to deal with."

Fehn sighed and said under her breath,

"Fires and matchsticks."

Ulfric's frown deepened,

"Excuse me?"

Fehn turned quickly,

"I said fires and matchsticks! Balgruuf's already ran me out of Whiterun with his horn of war blaring because you could not be subtle! How can I rely on that?"

Ulfric's expression softened and he said,

"Hmm, yes, I do regret the method in which I contacted you. But think of it as a test of character, you still sought me out and now you present yourself to me here. Listen, Dragonborn, you and I walk a fine line, a few – not many – but a few do not trust me simply because I served the Empire once. But I hammered that distrust out of the majority by proving myself, you're already exemplary, you've proven your worth to me and with one many will follow. Trust me as you did in that marsh, when we were nothing but two hunted people. Be my hammer and you and I shall crush the Legion in Skyrim. I have ambitions of taking this fight all the way to the Aldmeri Dominion. You and I have scores to settle, so let's settle them together. What say you?"

Fehn was still unconvinced, and Ulfric saw this. Getting to his feet, he looked down upon her.

"You may stay in my barracks while you decide. You can return to Whiterun and to your death, or you can stay here and fight with us. You can always walk away and allow the gods to decide your fate, but as Dovahkiin, I truly don't think there is an option for you there. Like it or not, you have a say in this war, and like Balgruuf, you will need to make a choice. Be it right, or be it wrong."

Fehn watched at the Jarl slapped her on the shoulder; his face was almost sympathetic at her dilemma and decision. With a gentle pat and nod, the Jarl retreated to a side room and Fehn was led down to the barracks by a guard. She was ushered quickly inside a small bunk. It seems even Dragonborn didn't get special treatment in Ulfric's army. Eying the room, she saw a few other guards and a familiar face, Ralof was standing presiding over a game of dice between two guards. Seeing her, he beamed and threw out his arms,

"I heard you were dead!"

He exclaimed and scrambled towards her. Fehn laughed and accepted his extended hand. Taking in his appearance, she was surprised at how much fitter and healthier he looked. She guessed the feeling was mutual as he looked her up and down with approval,

"So Gerdur patched you up nicely then, eh?"

Fehn smiled and smacked him on the arm playfully,

"Of course! And your nephew gave me this,"

Producing the amulet of Talos from under her armour, she watched as Ralof's face softened and he gently touched the amulet,

"Ah, my nephew, he is a good boy and a true Nord. Very taken with you."

Fehn grinned and nodded,

"Yes, he is a true Nord just like he mother, father and uncle."

Ralof looked away and stepped back a little. Placing his hands on his hips, he said,

"So, I have to ask, is it true? The stories that you are,"

He leaned in and whispered,

"Dragonborn?"

Fehn hushed him and pulled him aside,

"Shh! I don't want the whole city to know!"

Ralof made a face and his shoulders hunched up,

"Oh sorry, but a Dragonborn! That's-that's amazing, who'd have thought that you could be such a thing…You must be happy?"

Looking away from him she let out a sigh and mumbled,

"Not really, no. Ulfric has given me an ultimatum, join him or die. Those seem to be my only options."

Ralof's handsome face was contorted in confusion, gazing at her he said,

"Well you'll join us won't you? You fought in Helgen with me and you fought a dragon in Whiterun! Heck, you fought alongside Ulfric himself! Many of the men are whispering your name down here, Fehn. You're good for morale and a figure that people will want to rally behind."

Fehn shook her head,

"I won't be the reason why people wish to leave their farms and take up arms, Ralof."

Ralof rolled his eyes and said in an undertone,

"You won't be the only reason,"

Fehn's brow knotted as he smiled,

"How so?"

Ralof's grin widened,

"Because Galmar's offering free mead to all who join our cause."

Fehn frowned and tried to fight the urge to giggle. Ralof laughed and playfully shook her,

"Oh lighten up! You're in one of the greatest palaces in all of Skyrim! And you're on your way to becoming the most celebrated hero in Tamriel. There's not been a Dragonborn for an age, it'll make the people feel good to know that you're fighting for them…And we would all feel better knowing you were fighting beside us."

Fehn relented and smiled at him.


	17. Misguided Youth

Chapter XVII – Misguided Youth

A light snowfall descended on the jagged streets of Windhelm as Fehn picked her way through the city. Ulfric had allowed her to take a walk in the city as she came to her final conclusion of which side she would support; him or the Legion. It was a difficult decision on principal alone, this was not her land, this was not her fight but against those two momentous facts, she still had to partake. In all honesty, Fehn wished to leave the life of a warrior behind her, even this nonsense about her being a Dragonborn, she couldn't wrap her mind around just how much her life had changed since she had come to Skyrim. Kicking a stone, she pondered the idea of joining the Stormcloaks. Of course she had steadfast friendships in Hulda and Ralof and didn't want to disappoint them after the kindness and acceptance they had shown her but she also didn't want to be hunted down by General Tullius, she knew what kind of man he could become when he mercilessly tracked a quarry. Hunching her shoulders she shook her head and sighed, everything was so mixed up. While she was walking along a street rather unseeingly, she heard a voice,

"You're not to enter that house! Do you hear me?"

Fehn stopped and pressed herself up beside a wall. Peeking past the corner, her gaze fell on a Dunmer woman pointing a finger at a young boy, who had his back to Fehn,

"Oh but Aventus has been gone for ages! I just want to go and call on him."

Fehn watched as the woman looked up impatiently and then gently took his shoulders,

"No, listen to me. That house is cursed as were and are its inhabitants. You stay away from the Aretino boy, do you understand me?"

The boy sighed and nodded. The Dunmer nodded and said,

"Alright, you head home and get a fire going. I'll follow in a moment."

The boy's shoulders were slumped as he sadly walked off casting a longing look back at his friend's house before breaking into a run for home. The dark elf woman watched him with her hands on her hips. At that moment Fehn broke cover and said,

"Excuse me."

The Dunmer turned a ruby eye on her sharply,

"Yes?"

Fehn smiled and said in an apologetic tone,

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhearing something about that house being…cursed?"

The Dunmer folded her arms and sucked in a breath,

"Yes, yes. Terribly sad business, the Aretino residence is a home of much sorrow. The woman who owned the home's husband was killed in a skirmish with the Legion and then fell ill – she died. Leaving the couple's young son an orphan, it's a sad tale, but not one without omen."

Fehn nodded as the Dunmer relayed the tale,

"Rumour has it that the Aretino boy, Aventus, has been performing a most unholy ritual in that house,"

The elf nodded in the direction of the snow-covered terrace.

"He left for Riften a while back – Ulfric sent him to an orphanage there. Well he has come back and from what I have been hearing, practicing evil rituals and eerie incantations. I'll not have me and mine affiliated with that."

Fehn gazed over at the perfectly ordinary looking house,

"Rituals and incantations?"

She asked, the elf nodded and shrugged her shoulders,

"Who knows what the mite learned in Riften? Necromancy? Destruction? Restoration? I wonder if the boy's planning on taking revenge on Ulfric for sending him to an orphanage, or planning on resurrecting his dead parents. It…it's a truly tragic state of affairs, but if I was you, I'd steer clear of that house."

Fehn's eyes swivelled on the elf that nodded and left quickly, leaving Fehn alone in the street. Looking around, Fehn tip toed over to the front door and pressed her cheek up to the cold wood. She didn't hear anything, moving away Fehn shrugged and turned away from the damned home and resumed her walk.

Windhelm was always bustling with some business or other; its inhabitants were all stony-faced and hard. The men were all gruff and either muscled or stocky while its women were all tall and proud with resolute jaws and fierce eyes. Fehn knew that Windhelm was prone to sacking throughout time and history. Rubbing her hands together, she held them out to one of the many roaring braziers in the city. Bumping shoulders with some Dunmer refugees, Fehn tossed some of them a gold coin. She always held great sorrow for the unfortunate Mer. A sorrow that not many of the Nords in the city shared as often they would shout a tirade of abuse at the tiny elves, one man, Rolf, came up to them with a bucket of water and extinguished the brazier they were all huddled around.

"Freeze you worthless dogs! Freeze and get out of our city!"

Fehn watched astounded as he grabbed one of the elves and tossed him to the floor, kicking him.

"You don't do nothin', you waste OUR food! You wander around OUR city waiting for hand-outs, you stinking putrid little creatures!"

Fehn's chest swelled with anger as she heard a Dunmer weep beside her. Pushing past the growing crowd, Fehn grabbed one of Rolf's hulking shoulders and viciously threw him aside.

The Nord tripped over the bucket he had used to put out the brazier and fell on his backside with dull thud. Fehn tossed him a venomous glare and helped the Dunmer to his feet. The elf – who was only the same height as her – thanked her and ran off quickly. Fehn watched him and gasped as she felt herself being pulled,

"Who do you think…?"

Rolf's voice trailed off as he looked at her. Taking in her dusky skin tone and dark hair, Rolf's fury burst out,

"Oh, so it's an Imperial! No wonder, you kind are worse as those Grey Skins!"

With that Rolf punched Fehn hard. The elves backed away as Fehn sprawled back and fell to the icy ground,

"So Ulfric's allowing you bastards in and all? Not while I still draw breath, I'll kill you were you're lying!"

The Dunmer milled around them watched horrified as Rolf produced a dagger from his belt and lunged at Fehn. Gasping at the cold and the pain that engulfed her face, Fehn heard one of the elves call out a warning to her. Whipping her head around, her eyes widened as Rolf threw himself at her. Raising an arm to defend herself, Fehn watched as a hand gripped Rolf by the neck. The man gawped and spluttered dropping his dagger it hit the frozen ground with a clatter. Fehn lowered her arm and stared as Galmar's muscled arm pulsed as he held Rolf back,

"So you are trying to kill a missive from Whiterun? That, Master Rolf, is an offence as decreed by your Jarl, Ulfric Stormcloak. Why do you so readily break your Jarl's laws and extinguish the braziers that let our Hold of Eastmarch know that their main city is not under attack? Well, we'll find out down in the dungeons where you can tell me all about it."

His fingers tightened around Rolf's neck and he pushed the man back, he was caught by a few Stormcloak guards. Turning to her, Galmar didn't help Fehn up.

"There's no room for milk drinkers in Skyrim."

With that he left her on the cold ground and nodded for his men to take Rolf away and followed behind them.

Fehn scowled at the general's back and was helped up by a few grateful Dunmer. She brushed off their thanks and managed to excuse herself politely. Exhaling angrily, she stalked off down a side alley and tried to calm herself. Fehn's mind was reeling as she stomped through the darkening alleyways,

"I'm the milk drinker?"

He hissed to herself. Stopping in front of a wall, Fehn grunted and kicked it hard, and again, and again. Finally the Imperial lashed out and balled her fist and punched the wall angrily while simultaneously kicking it and slamming her other fist into the stone too. Breathing heavily, she finally stopped and pressed her head against the wall and felt her face grow warm as tears slipped out of her eyes. How could she fight for people that by her standards didn't actually qualify for independence? As far as Fehn was concerned her own 'Imperial snobbery' wasn't as attuned as say, General Tullius' or General Maro's, but even she had to admit that Skyrim needed an Empire to curb its own internal faults. With a sigh she turned and stared. She was outside the Aretino residence. Gazing at the house she felt a sudden urge to enter it. Throwing caution to the wind, she moved closer to the house and placed her bloodied hand on the handle. It was locked. Fehn's eyes lingered on her ruined knuckles and she gasped quietly as she heard the lock inexplicably click. She stood there frozen for a moment she half-expected someone to come out of the house but no one did. Sliding the handle down, Fehn entered the Aretino residence.

The house was silent and dimly lit by candles. It was warm and cosy, only Fehn felt that death pervaded the house quite poignantly. Stepping forward, Fehn made her way up some stairs to the initial floor of the seemingly empty house. She gazed around quietly and felt her stomach knot when she heard a whisper in the dimness, a prayer was uttered and she crouched low and listened,

"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear."

Fehn felt her hair stand on edge and her blood run cold. The voice that voiced this unholy prayer was that of a little boy, Fehn knew full well who he was praying to. The Nightmother, he was praying to the Dark Brotherhood. She had heard this incantation once before back in Cyrodiil, but she had never heard it uttered by a seemingly innocent voice in a dimly lit cursed house. She was about to get up when she heard the sound of a dagger hitting the floor and a sniffle,

"Oh…Why isn't working? Please, please…Sweet mother, sweet mother…"

Fehn stood and poked her head around the side of the door. What she saw was a haunting sight. A young boy – presumably Aventus Aretino – was bent over a skeletal effigy repeatedly stabbing at it with a dagger. Around the eerie bones were lots and lots of lit candle, all burning brightly and their wax dripping. In amongst the bones were a human heart and some human flesh – which the deranged boy was stabbing at. When the boy noticed her, his youthful face lit up and the tears on his chubby face shone,

"I-I don't believe it! I thought it would never work, but it's you! You finally came, an assassin from the Dark Brotherhood!"

Fehn gawped and was frankly quite terrified by effigies and creepy children holding knives in general, so stupidly, she bobbed her head in agreement and opted not to smile. Keeping her face stoic, she moved in to the room and stood before the boy. Gazing up at her, he asked in a voice as mild as milk,

"So will you accept me contract?"

Fehn eyes were steady, not betraying her to him that internally she was extremely unsettled. Nodding her head, she said in a quiet voice,

"Proceed, boy."

Aventus smiled and nodded,

"Alright, listen then. I want you to kill someone. I want you to go to Riften and kill Grelod the Kind."

Fehn stared down at him and tried to keep her face bland.

"Grelod the Kind, please tell me more about her?"

Aventus' young face was contorted with anger as his little fists balled and he spat,

"Grelod's the matron at the orphanage, Honorhall! They call her Grelod the Kind, but she's not, she a monster! She used to beat me in that place and she hits the other kids too, she's probably smacking them around right now! Grelod doesn't deserve to live…"

Fehn nodded and said,

"Why were you sent to Honorhall?"

The boy's eyes watered and his shoulders slumped. Staring down at the floor, he said,

"My mother…she died. Just after my father died when he was out fighting, she got sick and just…She just never got better. Then the Jarl's men came and took me away to that horrible orphanage."

Fehn felt pity stir in her heart for the young boy; she knew what it was like to lose parents. Stepping closer, she said finally,

"Are you sure about this, boy? Assassinations do not come cheap."

Aventus gazed up at her and said earnestly,

"I've never been surer about anything in my entire life. Grelod does not deserve to live one more day. As for payment, I have a family heirloom…I hope that's okay?"

Fehn dipped her head and said in a sombre voice,

"It will be done."

Aventus smiled and said,

"Oh thank you! But please…Please be quick. I want to see my friends again, and I'm terribly lonely here."

Fehn bowed and swept out of the room. Outside, Fehn breathed in the crisp night air and tried to push the thought of the unholy pact she had just made so she could get out of there. Staring down at her bloodied knuckles her eyes widened as they were now smooth as if they hadn't been injured at all. Gasping, she felt fear grip her as she realised that she had made a terrible mistake entering that house.


	18. Alignments

Chapter XVIII – Alignments

The main hall of the Palace of Kings was completely sparse. Fehn's palms were sweating as she stood before Ulfric. She had spent only two days in Windhelm and she was certain that Ulfric had insisted she stay in his barracks so that Balgruuf would assume that her absence would signify which faction she was supporting. The longer she shied away from Whiterun, the more likely to Balgruuf of her allegiance. Ulfric sat atop his throne, his hand was absently brushing his beard as he stared at her. Beside him were Galmar Stone-Fist and the steward, Jorleif. Fehn locked eyes with Ralof, who was stood to the side of Galmar; the Nord nodded and gave her a reassuring smile. Her own sense of tension was relieved only a little as she gazed back at Ulfric who hadn't taken his blue eyes off of her. A long moment passed and Ulfric gave a long sigh and leaned forward,

"So, imperial, you have spent a few days in my city and Galmar here tells me you've been…getting to know the locals."

Fehn avoided glowering at Galmar who had snubbed her the day before when she had defended the Dunmer refugee from Rolf's vicious beating. Ulfric cocked an eyebrow and said,

"I should have warned you that the Dunmer refugees from Morrowind are only tolerated in this city on the very cusp of my concern. I wouldn't waste much thought on them if I were you."

Fehn gawped but stayed silent. Seeing her expression, Ulfric leaned back and shrugged,

"I allow them bed and board in my city. If they do not like the subsequent treatment or service, they are more than free to leave. Windhelm was built in mind for Men not Mer, and my people are wary of outsiders – especially Mer. I can hardly blame the mistreatment, but neither can I condone it. Rolf will be holed up in the dungeons until he is sober and ready to be reintegrated into the city."

Fehn looked away. She hated the vile disdain that the Nords held for any other species other than there selves. Looking back at Ulfric, she was surprised to see a look of genuine earnestness in his face,

"I would also like to extend my deepest apologies to the treatment you had to suffer at the hands of Rolf. He – like many in this city – do not know of the services you have done for me. However, I cannot broadcast anything that would relieve their distrust of you until I have an answer from you."

Fehn chuckled at his choice of words. Seeing Galmar's fury at her laugher, she sobered and commented,

"A well-dressed blackmail if I ever did hear one."

Ulfric gave her a lop-sided smile and said,

"Ah, so you _are_ indeed a politician."

Fehn spread her hands out and shrugged softly,

"It doesn't matter does it? What matters is what I plan to be to you."

There was silence as Galmar fumed at her cheek and Ralof stood rigidly expecting the Jarl's temper to fray at the insolence in the Imperial's voice. Only Jorleif seemed amused at her. Ulfric's expression was sober and he said simply,

"Yes, that is all that matters."

Fehn sighed gently, gazing over at Ralof, Fehn's expression was a little pained. For a moment he feared she would decline Ulfric's invitation to their cause. Staring back into Ulfric's face, Fehn said evenly,

"I will join your cause."

Ulfric's face did not change. A look of passive acceptance was all he gave her. Nodding his head, he raised his hand and said with authority,

"And it is my pleasure to accept you, Fehn."

Fehn bowed her head and tensed a little as she heard the Jarl get up and the sound of a blade being drawn. She was too cautious for her own good, the last time she bowed her head and heard a blade being drawn, her neck was on a wooden block, flashing her gaze upwards, Ulfric stepped back and shook his head. Placing one of his large hands on her shoulder, he said reassuringly,

"It's just a formality, Imperial."

Sighing, Fehn dipped her head and allowed the Jarl to place the tip of his axe's blade on her head. After a moment, Ulfric said in a serious tone,

"Alright, Imperial, you may rise."

Getting to her feet, Fehn saw Galmar's eyes blazing at this interplay between the Jarl and herself. Turning her gaze on Ulfric, he said,

"You must perform the oath now. Galmar?"

Fehn's eyes widened a little as Galmar stepped forward and unfolded his arms; his rough race was sour,

"An oath?"

Fehn asked, Galmar said in a gruff voice,

"All inductees must perform an oath. You are not an exception, Imperial. You say the oath so that we know that you are serious and not still a snivelling Legionare. Now, will you take the oath and forever bind yourself to Skyrim and her Liberation?"

Fehn felt a little cornered by this. Staring at Galmar, her throat contracted as she thought furiously how this could entrap her somehow. Galmar clicked his tongue at her silence and blank face, glaring at Ulfric, he said insolently,

"You forgot to mention she was a complete simpleton, Ulfric."

Frowning, the Jarl waved away Galmar's comment and enquired,

"Unblooded?"

Fehn blinked up at the Jarl and frowned, Galmar asked again,

"Will you take the oath, Imperial?"

Looking at him, Fehn gave up thinking of what she was throwing herself into here. She simply nodded and Galmar rolled his eyes and took a few steps forward. Holding up one of his gloved hands, he placed his other hand on his chest and instructed,

"Place your hand over your breast, yes like that. Now, repeat after me, Unblooded; 'I do swear my blood and honour in the service of Ulfric Stormcloak…'".

Fehn threw a quick glance at Ulfric who caught her doing so. She wondered if he minded that his army's first line in an oath to liberate the land first swore its blood to him and not Skyrim. He nodded for her to repeat what Galmar had said. Taking a breath, Fehn said in a clear voice,

"I do swear my blood and honour in the service of Ulfric Stormcloak..."

Galmar nodded and continued,

"'…Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim.'"

Fehn repeated,

"…Jarl of Windhelm and true High King of Skyrim."

Fehn watched as Galmar recited the next part of the oath,

"'As Talos as my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond..."'

Fehn could feel her stomach tighten,

"As Talos as my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond…"

"'..Even to my lord and as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms.'"

Fehn looked over to Ralof then. His face was serious and he gave her the slightest nod to continue,

"Even to my lord as to my fellow brothers and sisters in arms."

Fehn repeated mirthlessly. Galmar banged his fist on his chest as he recited the final line of the oath.

"'All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

Fehn felt her cheeks burn when Ralof giggled when she banged her own fist against her chest as she mimicked Galmar, Ulfric hid his own smile as she too said the final line of the oath,

"All hail the Stormcloaks, the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

Galmar's face was hard as his arm returned to his side, turning to Ulfric, the Jarl nodded for Galmar to speak,

"Alright, you're now inducted into the fold, in all but actions that is."

Fehn ignored the general's bitterness and waited for him to continue,

"My main concern is obtaining the Jagged Crown. It's a rare symbol which the people of Skyrim will rally to. We're going to get it. You and I. For Skyrim, we will retrieve her High King's true mantle. Meet me in the barracks and we'll talk strategy, both of you."

Motioning to Ralof, the Nord pointed to his chest,

"Who, me?"

Galmar rolled his eyes and snapped,

"No, the Lucky Old Lady of Bravil, of course you, you dullard!"

Ralof bowed his head embarrassed and nodded,

"Sorry, general."

Galmar bowed to Ulfric and stomped off to the barracks. Ralof smiled at her and headed off towards the soldiers bunks. Fehn watched them both go before returning her attention to Ulfric.

"The Jagged Crown?"

Ulfric sighed, shook his head then shrugged.

"I don't know what Galmar's thinking but he's convinced that the Legion has caught wind of where the Jagged Crown is being kept…I am not convinced fully as of yet, but Galmar's a man not prone to flights of fancy and I believe him. I…I just hope he finds the crown, it'd be a personal hurt to his pride if he didn't. Galmar is my most loyal subject. So you look after him now. Farewell."

Fehn's eyes followed him steadily as Ulfric walked off smoothly to his own private quarters leaving Fehn alone in the huge main hall of the Palace of Kings.

"It's a perfect time to strike! Trust me, if I know Rikke, she's found it. If that Nord says she's found that damned Crown, then you can be rest assured that she has!"

Galmar slammed his fist on the table as he hammered home the party's objective,

"We need that Crown. We need it for our cause and if you want our cause to succeed – which I'd imagine you do – you'll fight tooth and nail to get it! Now, arm yourselves and prepare to make haste to the crypt of Korvanjund! Go, go!"

The general crooked his finger at Fehn,

"I expect you to meet us there too, Unblooded. You will be our…mascot if you will during this little campaign."

Fehn frowned,

"Mascot?"

Galmar ran his fingers through his beard and nodded,

"Yes, Unblooded. Mascot. Word of your battles is sure to have reached the Legionares by now and if what Ulfric tells me about you is accurate, you used to be quite personal with some of the Legions more…nameable figures. Simply think of it as this; I want them to know that you're fighting for us now."

Fehn bowed her head and said,

"As you wish, general."

Galmar nodded curtly and slapped her on the shoulder,

"Alright then! I'm going to make sure the boys are gearing up properly. As a seasoned soldier of the Legion I don't doubt your abilities, after all they don't just let any riff raff in, do they? So you go on ahead, I'll no doubt get there before you – even if you get a head start."

Fehn bowed and swept out of the barracks, dodging past the scrambling soldiers as they all milled around to prepare themselves. She wasn't watching where she was going and smacked head-first into one of the soldiers,

"Hey! Watch where you're walking, dulla…"

Fehn was about to apologise when she saw that the person she had banged into was Ralof. The blond-haired Nord smiled at her excitedly and said,

"Oh, sorry, Fehn! Can you believe it, our first campaign together with you as a Stormcloak!"

Fehn looked away and managed to smile for him. Ralof frowned and looked at her more closely,

"Are you alright?"

Flashing her dark eyes up at him, the Imperial sighed and said,

"Me? Oh, yes, yes. I'm fine, I'm fine…just excited. I've to meet you all there at Korvanjund…Don't worry, I'll be there watching your backs."

Ralof's grin broadened and he noticed one of the other soldiers hailing him. With a wave and nod, he turned back to her,

"Hey, I'll be watching your back too. We'll see how many Legionares we take down this day."

Fehn smiled,

"Bet I take more than you."

Ralof laughed and slapped her on the arm playfully,

"Don't be so sure! I'll be counting."

It took Fehn the better part of three hours to reach the ruins of Korvanjund. Slipping down the shallow trench of frozen earth and snow, Fehn landed ungraciously in the snow and breathed out white air as she beheld Galmar who was crouching with his war axe brandished. The Nord man scowled down at her,

"Humph, I can see why those Legionares wanted rid of you."

Fehn blinked up at him and retorted,

"I was crossing the border…actually."

Galmar's scowl deepened and he gripped the back of her tunic and hoisted her up roughly.

"Draw your weapon."

He commanded aggressively. Fehn obeyed and watched as the general turned to their party and said quietly,

"Those bastards seemed to have got here first and thanks to our newest recruit's doe-like footwork, probably know that we're here too."

A few of the Stormcloak soldiers gave her darkened glares as Galmar spoke,

"But we shall remain vigilant. If they indeed don't know we're here, we have the element of surprise. Alright, boys, today we regain Ulfric's crown, today we begin the true journey to liberate our land. Fight, or die well and Talos guide you. Move out!"

They all bounded forward, the snow silenced their footsteps as they approached Korvanjund. Fehn fell back and ran beside Ralof,

"Don't worry; Galmar's always a sour old goat."

Ralof remarked as they ran side by side. Fehn gave him a sidelong look and drew her bow, sheathing her swords,

"Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll run into one of my arrows."

Ralof gave her a grim smile,

"Don't count on it."

The ruins came into view within a moment and Fehn's stomach tightened as she gripped her bow. Falling back behind Ralof, she whispered,

"Go on ahead, don't worry, I'm covering you from behind."

Ralof didn't say anything and merely nodded as he and the rest of the party descended down a rickety wooden ledge that was jutting out of the stone basin in which the ruins of Korvanjund resided. The Imperials who were guarding the ruins exclaimed when they saw the Stormcloaks harry them. Galmar released a ferocious battle cry as he brought his axe down on one of the Imperial's leather helms. Fehn recoiled and drew an arrow. Taking aim, she loosed it towards the Imperial's who were scrabbling for their swords. The arrow hit its mark and the Imperial soldier flew back and grasped at the arrow shaft that protruded from his breast. Fehn quickly nocked another arrow and this time focused on the throng of Stormcloaks that were seeping into the snowy basin. Picking off an Imperial that was slicing in a panic-stricken foray at Galmar, Fehn nocked another arrow before the first hit its mark. Aiming clumsily as a gust of wind threw her off from her elevated position, the Imperial fell and landed on the wooden ledge with a thud. She gasped winded and her eyes darted around for her bow. Fehn grunted in annoyance when she saw that it had fallen to the lower level and was lying in the snow. An Imperial soldier who saw her fall took the opportunity to scale the ledge and try and kill her, slashing his sword at her, Fehn managed to kick it aside and draw her own sword. Taking the Imperial's moment of distraction, Fehn managed to stab him in the belly and kick him back down to the lower level. Getting to her feet, Fehn drew her second sword and threw herself from the lower ledge and brought both her swords down on an Imperial who was trying to sneak up behind one of her fellow Stormcloaks. There was the sound of bones crunching and skin splitting as the Imperial crumpled to the ground under Fehn's attack. She made a face and quickly ripped her blades free of the man's ruined body and ran up a set of icy steps. Dodging Imperial arrows, she screamed,

"Archers! We need some archers!"

Reaching out her hand, she caught her bow as Ralof chucked it at her. He joined her on the steps and they nocked arrows and released a small turret of arrows at the Imperials at the head of the steps. Sweat dripped down Fehn's face despite the cold and grimaced in pain as an arrow sliced through the air and scratched her on the face. Recoiling back, she blinked repeatedly and heard Ralof shout,

"Are you alright?"

Fehn nodded and shouted her response,

"Yes, yes! Just a scratch!"

With that, she nocked another arrow and aimed up at the Imperial scouts. Taking a deep breath, everything seemed to slow down. She could feel the blood from the scratch on her cheek trickling down her face, keeping both eyes open, she let loose her arrow and also let loose the breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. The arrow connected with her target and with a pained grunt the man fell back dead. Just then Ralof took down the rest of the scouts. Fehn let out a breath and her shoulders slumped a little as she kneeled alongside Ralof on the frozen steps. Everything was quiet now; Galmar placed his two hands on Fehn and Ralof's shoulders,

"Ah, the wonder Blades, now if you two are done resting, can we proceed?"

Ralof chuckled as Galmar swept past them and made his way up the stairs. Offering Fehn his hand, Ralof hoisted the Imperial to her feet.

"You know that bow you have there?"

Fehn gawped a moment before holding it up and looking at it,

"What about it?"

Ralof placed his own bow on his back and chuckled again,

"It's mine. I take it Gerdur lent it to you?"

Fehn looked up at his smiling face and blushed,

"Yes she did…do you want it back right now?"

Ralof laughed and waved her comment away,

"No! No, you keep it. Consider it my thanks for watching my back."

Fehn smiled and returned the weapon to her back,

"Thank you very much, sir."

Proceeding up the stairs, Fehn and Ralof blended into the remaining party that stood poised before the doors of Korvanjund. Galmar stood with his arms folded; blood stained his beard as he assessed the party. Fehn had already counted, they had lost three men in that skirmish they had a total of six men left now. Galmar nodded and said,

"Be on your guard in here, soldiers. We may find more than just Imperials in these foul ruins. Watch out for your shield-siblings and don't go blundering into any traps."

Turning, the general opened the doors to the sprawling crypt of Korvanjund.


	19. The Crypt of Korvanjund

Chapter XIX – The Crypt of Korvanjund

Fehn grimaced and hissed as a female Stormcloak barged past her and into the crypt,

"Watch it."

She grunted shortly to the Imperial. Fehn eyed her darkly and rubbed her arm. Catching Ralof's eye, the Nord shrugged and shook his head,

"Just leave it. Come on."

Fehn sighed and allowed him to gently push her forward. The crypt was dimly lit and covered in cobwebs; an omen seemed to hang from the very ceiling as the party picked their way through the desolate tomb. Fehn tried to push down her feelings of trepidation as she silently crept behind Galmar and two other Stormcloaks. Straining her ears, Fehn could hear a clinking sound from up ahead, she flinched as Galmar held up a gloved fist and hissed quietly,

"Shh, be still you lot!"

They all halted in their steps and watched Galmar with wide eyes and fear knotting in their bellies. Turning to them, the general flashed them a wolfish grin and pointed a thumb towards the passageway,

"Aha, the damn Imperials got here first. That's the thing about your lot; they always sniff out the money."

Fehn remained silent as Galmar chuckled at his own jest. Bracing himself, he gripped his war axe and grunted in an undertone,

"Alright, my dears, time to get our hands dirty, but mind; this time we're in a confined space. Try'n not get cornered, Talos guide you. Don't break cover until I give the command."

With that he turned and crept through the doorway and eyed the Imperial soldiers who were stationed at the other side of the hall. Fehn gulped and watched them; they had tanned skin and dark eyes like her. They weren't Nords. Closing her eyes, Fehn's throat contracted,

"Alright, boys, in one, two, and three…"

Fehn sighed,

"Forgive me."

"GO!"

They broke cover and quickly descended upon the Imperial soldiers. They were caught a little unawares but soon recovered, drawing their swords and slashing at the Stormcloak force. There were six of them in total, Fehn's heart nearly burst when the two that she downed both eyed her with disdain for her betrayal. Not allowing herself to be bogged down by guilt, Fehn screamed and plunged her swords into the chests of both of them, ending their lives and extinguishing their accusing glares. While she was heaving her sword free from one of them, she started when she heard a scream behind her and warm blood splattered her back and hair. Turning, Fehn's eyes widened when she was face to face with an Imperial soldier with blood trickling from his mouth, his eyes glassy. Fehn sidestepped him as he fell forward revealing Galmar who roughly wrenched his axe free from the Imperial's back,

"I said _don't_ get cornered, Unblooded."

Fehn breathed deeply and nodded,

"It won't happen again."

Galmar stipulated evenly,

"I won't save you again."

Turning to their force, Galmar commanded,

"Alright, Friga and Roal, you stay behind and keep a guard and the rest of you, with me."

Fehn followed close behind Galmar with Ralof at her back. Gripping her swords' pommels she could feel her palms becoming sweaty as she gingerly traversed Korvanjund. In every corner a dangerous sense of forgo seemed to loom in the shadows. Eyes which she could not see seemed to watch her every step and quietly, whisperingly coax her to venture just a little further, venture into their shadowy grasp. She shivered and gulped down again, without realising, she had been grinding her teeth and now her jaw was sore. Creeping along the sprawling passageways their party finally came across a chamber. One of the Stormcloaks started and Galmar whipped around with his axe at the ready,

"What is it!"

The female Stormcloak gagged and turned away. Fehn craned her neck to see what the Stormcloak was retching at and then the blood drained from her face.

"Urgh, a bone-walker."

Fehn's knuckles were white as she gazed upon the seemingly lifeless Draugr. The female Stormcloak recovered and enquired shakily,

"A bone-walker?"

Galmar nodded and said gruffly,

"Aye, they wander these old ruins in search of their masters. Who these masters are I could not tell you. Anyway, it'll take more than a few dusty bone-walkers to stop us, let's keep moving."

Ralof placed a comforting hand on the shoulder of the Stormcloak and gently coerced her forwards,

"At least you now know what to expect."

He offered helpfully, the Stormcloak gripped her belly and fought the urge to vomit,

"I'm not sure if I'm the better for it."

Ralof chuckled and looked behind him. He stopped when he saw Fehn was still looking down upon the dead Draugr. Her eyes were glazed and she was curiously focused as she gazed down at it,

"Fehn?"

The girl didn't move, instead, she simply sighed and closed her eyes. Ralof turned and walked back, stopping beside her, he asked,

"What is it?"

Fehn eyes snapped open,

"I've been here before, I think…"

Ralof frowned,

"In Korvanjund?"

Fehn nodded slowly and gazed around the chamber,

"Or maybe Skyrim's out to drive me mad…"

Ralof laughed lightly and motioned for her to hurry along. Stepping over the Draugr, Fehn felt her own feelings of worry grow more and more as each passing moment in Korvanjund seemed to press down on her very sanity.

The party pressed on at a slow and cumbersome pace. Fehn slid her hand along the pommel of her sword and tutted and absently wiped the sweat from her palms onto the fur of her armour. Sighing, she moved up through their wary procession and whispered to Galmar,

"So what's the big deal about this crown? Why does Ulfric need it? Can't he just storm Solitude and take the crown that Torryg had?"

Galmar eyed the Imperial levelly and hissed,

"Torryg was burned with his crown on his head, stupid. Besides, Ulfric needs a crown of his own, one that the people of Skyrim can identify as his. You understand? Can you imagine your paltry emperor in anything other than the Golden Circlet?"

Fehn frowned and agreed silently. She could never picture an emperor of Cyrodiil in any other adornment. Gingerly stepping forward, she asked,

"So how d'you know it's here then?"

Galmar flashed her a wolfish grin,

"Ah, well, see here, Imperial. Rikke thinks that I hadn't noticed the milk drinker that she'd placed in our company; let's just say that her man is now my man. I have no doubt that she noticed the man I spliced into the Imperial camp too. Ha! We know each other well enough to know that not much passes between our men that we would never hear about. How d'you think I knew of you?"

Fehn stared at the grizzled Nord and grinned,

"So you heard it through the vine."

She concluded. Tapping his nose, Galmar said,

"Exactly, but not only one location, that fox, Rikke must have bled another rumour in through her ranks. But like I said, her man is my man. Now I have both locations, there's currently a similar party at another crypt near Dawnstar searching for the same crown. I had a feeling about Korvanjund and that's why I'm leading this party."

Fehn nodded and commented,

"Clever."

Galmar chuckled,

"Very. I feel it in my bones, Unblooded. I feel that this may just be the crypt where the Jagged Crown is being hidden. Ulfric will reign supreme in this campaign, that I promise you."

Something in his tone made Fehn look at him closer. It was quite endearing to look upon the loyalty in which Galmar felt towards Ulfric – which made her wonder what warranted such dogged dedication.

"You've known him long then? Ulfric, I mean."

Galmar gripped his axe and signalled for the men to spread out a little,

"Aye, known him since he was a lad, I'm a seasoned soldier, trained the boy up. Taught him how to swing an axe and break a few bones. I know what you think, you think that we Stormcloaks follow blindly, well you can scorch that thought, girl. Each man who joins our cause owes Ulfric a life debt, and he them. You included, Imperial."

Fehn's eyes narrowed,

"I owe no one anything."

Galmar chuckled again and stopped abruptly in the middle of a low ceilinged chamber,

"Well you'd better get that thought out of your head too. You owe me unswerving loyalty, you owe Ralof there your life and you owe Ulfric a job well done. You're on the bottom rung, Dragonborn or no Dragonborn, you've still got weak little arms, and you've still got to squint when you look at the sun. You're above nobody here. Remember it."

Galmar nodded and slipped past her leaving her glaring at the entryway they had just come through. Turning on her heel, she stared around the chamber. It was wide as well as long; however the low ceiling made it feel less spacious than the other chambers. Sniffing the stuffy air Fehn felt the hairs on her neck stand up on edge. Brandishing her other sword, the Stormcloaks started and stared at her,

"What're you doing, Imperial?"

Asked Galmar testily. Fehn nodded her head and just as he turned a decomposing Draugr sprang out of his stone tomb.

"Bone-walkers!"

Called one of the men as more of the foul creatures burst out of their resting places and began to swing their ancient weapons at them. Kicking into a run, Fehn swung her sword down on one of the bony creatures and hissed as an arrow embedded itself into the back of her shoulder. Twisting herself around to avoid another arrow, she leapt down a small ledge and slashed at the Draugr who had shot her.

"Krosis!"

The glowing eyes of the monster glinted brightly as it lamented as it brought down its heavy war axe down on Fehn's two swords. She snarled as its superior strength being put on her weapons made her shoulder wail in agony. With a final scream and a kick, Fehn managed to dislodge herself from the creature's contest of strength. Gasping, she dropped her blade and scurried to retrieve it as the Draugr made a lunge for her,

"Unslaad!"

Turning her head, her eyes widened as the Draugr harried her and bellowed,

"FUSROH!"

Snapping her eyes shut Fehn was thrown back by the blue air which engulfed her. She heard Ralof grunt as she smashed into him and landed on the cold stone floor with a thud.

"They can shout! Be careful, men, they can shout!"

It was too late to warn them. Already half of the party had been flung around the chamber by blue air and the Draugr seemed to be unrelenting in their cries.

"You're shot!"

Cried Ralof as he dragged her to her feet, patting his forearm, Fehn said breathlessly,

"Don't worry about it; just don't get hit by one of those shouts!"

Ralof nodded and they resumed the fight with the skeletal creatures. Grabbing her sword, Fehn jumped up on one of the abandoned tombs. Galmar and Ralof stood at the base of the tomb with their axes at the ready, the other Stormcloaks all seemed too dazed by being thrown by the shouts, Fehn swung her swords and bellowed,

"Come on then! Cover your ears!"

Galmar and Ralof both complied as the Draugr ran for them,

"FUSROHDA!"

It was a deafening sound that was unleashed from Fehn's throat. The crypt shook and she herself was flung back from the sheer force of the shout. The Draugr screeched as their bones were torn asunder and thrown back as Fehn's insatiable force ripped through the chamber. Suddenly silence pervaded the chamber.

Fehn grimaced as her vision blurred. Blinking back tears, she hissed as the arrow had been thrust further into her shoulder when she had fallen back. A stray tear slipped out from under her eyelid as Galmar offered her a hand.

"The power of the Thu'um…it becomes you, Imperial."

Accepting his hand, Fehn frowned and blinked again,

"Becomes me?"

Galmar nodded and sheathed his axe,

"No milk drinker could unleash a bellow like that. It was impressive, and you managed to repel those bone-walkers. Good job, consider this you moving up in the world."

Fehn beamed even though her shoulder was still throbbing. Galmar quickly waved her smile away and said gruffly,

"You're still at the bottom however, don't get cocky now."

Fehn bowed her head as the general stalked off to check on the other Stormcloaks. With another grimace, Fehn seated herself on the lip of the opened tomb. Snapping the arrowhead off the shaft, she tried to pull the wood from her shoulder,

"Need some help with that?"

Fehn gazed up at Ralof and smiled sleepily,

"Yes please."

He nodded and placed one hand at the base of her neck and another gripped the wooden shaft.

"Alright, on one, two…"

She gasped and leaned forward as he quickly pulled the shaft free of her flesh. Ralof patted her other shoulder and tossed the ruined arrow over his own shoulder,

"There, all done. That was incredible."

Fehn glared at him and began to wrap linen around her wound,

"What was?"

Ralof gaped at her,

"That…thing you just did there! I mean, did you see how far those bone-walkers went flying?"

Still sour, Fehn shrugged and snapped shortly,

"No I was on the ground."

He relented in his enthusiasm and kneeled down at her feet. Retrieving her sword for her, Ralof offered her the blade,

"Be sweet, Fehn. This crypt's definitely more pleasant when you're sweet to me."

Taking the sword, Fehn laughed and nodded.

"I'm sorry, it just seems that I've been in more fights in Skyrim than any other part of Tamriel, you know?"

Ralof folded his arms and laughed,

"Skyrim's a fighting land. Home of the warriors of old."

Gazing at the dead Draugr, he mused,

"Even in death we find it hard to stop fighting."

They resumed their stilted pace through the crypt once Fehn and a few others had bandaged themselves up. Luckily, they had lost no more of their force and Fehn found herself thanking Akatosh for that. Silently like armed shadows, they slipped through the chambers of Korvanjund.

For the better part of twenty minutes they pulled levers and dodged traps, all designed to stop thieves from plundering the revered dead's belongings and offerings. Fehn couldn't really wrap her mind around just how different the Nord's way of reverence, burial and worship of the dead differed from the Imperial way. When her father had died he had been buried in an unmarked grave, same with her brother the only one who seemed to have had any ceremony was her mother, but she could barely remember that. All she could recall was her father lighting a torch and whispering to her and Luca that he would take care of them now, Fehn felt such a poignant pang of sympathy for her father then that she'd flung her little arms around his neck and cried. Her father had simply pulled his now diminished family close and hugged her and her brother and wept with them at the loss of a wife and mother.

Fehn sheathed one of her swords and resorted to just using one for the time being. Thanks to the wound on her shoulder, she was finding it difficult to raise her right arm, so using a second sword would have been pointless. Every so often they would hear a scratching sound from one corner and then a little muted whisper in another. It was enough to drive one mad. Finally the party found themselves in a long chamber, just a large corridor really. Fehn gasped as at the end of it was a huge golden door with three familiar plates. Galmar grunted and sheathed his weapon,

"Well, well, "

He began shortly and made his way over to a dead Imperial soldier who lay face down with a volley of arrows protruding from his body.

"What do we have here?"

Galmar kicked the soldier over and beneath him was a black claw. Fehn's eyes widened a little as the general picked it up and examined it,

"Hmm, Unblooded, this looks like more your business than mine."

Passing her the artefact, Fehn ran her fingers along the smooth claw. It appeared to be made of ebony as opposed to the golden one she had in her pack. Taking the golden claw out, she showed it to Galmar. Running his hands through his beard, he nodded and said,

"Alright, I'll leave this to you then, Unblooded. I'll be over here checking over some of these readings."

Fehn nodded and the general minced by her and gazed up at the carvings on the walls. His men followed suit except for Ralof who asked over her shoulder,

"You think you'll be able to open it?"

Fehn shrugged and raised her eyebrows as she eyed the two claws in her hands,

"I don't know…maybe."

Ralof looked at her, nodding to the body on the floor he said in mock cheer,

"Well you'd better hope you get it right first time, or you'll end up like him."


	20. Ascended Tomb

_Jeez, dudes. Sorry about the freakin' delay! Interweb's been down a peach & been busy with college & general life - sorry bout' that. Anywho, I'm getting back into the swing of things, just a wee short chapter the now, I promise that the next chapter will NOT take as long as this lil' snider of a chapter ( I know it's really, really short! ) Hopefully you'll be getting the ideas and things I'm trying to put across about Fehn's family and past through the flashback paragraphs and stuff and that it's at least mildly interesting to you guys. Well, enough from me, next chapter soon and please enjoy._

Chapter XX – Ascended Tomb

"_General Penitus Lucian Oculatus Anonamy, you are hereby condemned to death by beheading as the behest of our esteemed Emperor, Titus Mede II. To the gods we commend your soul."_

_Fehn's eyes shimmered as she watched her father mount the scaffold and kneel before the wooden block. His shiny black hair was tied back in a red ribbon, a tear slipped down his straight, long nose. Gripping the pommel of her sword, she shivered even in the heat of the summer she could feel the cold chill her to the very bone as she watched on helplessly as her father prepared to die. General Maro stepped forward and gently placed a black velvet sack over Penitus's head, _

"_Do not pity yourself, Maro."_

_Said Penitus quietly, the general stopped and held the sack for a moment. Penitus's handsome face crinkled as he smiled doggedly, _

"_With my death you move up. Do not pity yourself that you are the harbinger which places a sack upon my head – for I have the love of my children and my wife whom I'll reunite with in a moment."_

_Casting a wicked glance at Maro, Penitus winked, _

"_Some are so fortunate to have talented family."_

_Fehn's back stiffened as Maro glared at her and snarled. A tear escaped from her eye as Maro roughly thrust the sack onto her father's head. Nodding to the executioner, Maro waved for the execution to proceed. Fehn's chest swelled as she threw a desperate gaze over to her brother who was standing by the emperor. Slowly her brother shook his own handsome head and silently pleaded with her to keep her peace. Fehn frowned at his complacency and glared at the emperor. Emperor Titus Mede II returned her gaze steadily, his bushy eyebrows hung heavily over his calm and understanding eyes. _

"_On one!"_

_Cried the executioner as Fehn turned her head quickly to watch the proceedings. Her father knelt calmly and steadily, leaning forward, the Imperial general placed his cheek to the warm sun-kissed wood. _

"_Two!"_

_With one last glance at her brother, Fehn frowned and stepped forward – pushing her way through the crowd. From his post next to the emperor, Luca saw his sister barrel through the throng of spectators. Gripping the pommel of his own sword, he took a step to stop her; he started when the arm of the emperor halted him. Gazing at Titus Mede, Luca's throat contracted, _

"_She will not stop this. Your family needs to learn its place, boy."_

_Luca nodded and stepped back in line and watched fearfully as his father knelt before a block and his sister ran towards one. _

"_Three!"_

_Fehn's legs burned as she ran, her Oculatus armour glaring in the bright orange sunlight. Her breath was cut short as a spear was thrust out in front of her, snarling at the serious face of Gaius Maro who held the spear. His jaw was set as she gripped the wooden shaft and tried to force her way past him. Suddenly, the axe glinted in the sunlight as was brought down on Penitus Lucian Oculatus Anonamy. Tears streamed down Fehn's cheeks as she pulled on the wood and screamed. The crowd all watched as the general's head was held aloft by his executioner. Fehn was appalled as she saw his severed head, his eyes glassy and his tongue lolled out of his bloody mouth. Falling to her knees, Fehn wept as the crowd slowly dispersed and left her to her misery._

Fehn's temples throbbed as she stared forlornly up at the three stone panels. A wolf, a bear and an owl, but which went where and in what order? Frowning up at the golden door, her gaze flicked down to the ebony claw she held in her hand.

"Hmm…"

Reaching out, the Imperial tentatively slid her slim fingers along the cool, smooth granite of the first panel and gently slid the stone around to reveal the bear. She grimaced as she turned the panel – expecting to be shot with a volley of arrows as she did. Relief washed over her as she was spared the arrows and the symbol of the bear remained correct. With a sigh she gazed down at the claw and squinted down at the two remaining symbols. An owl and a wolf. Keeping her hands steady, she managed to make out the second symbol – which was that of the owl. Repeating the process, the Imperial slid the second largest panel and stopped when the owl was revealed. The door made a resonating clicking sound and Fehn gently slipped the claw into the grooves of the door and stepped back. Galmar and Ralof stood by her side as the panels all twirled around as the claw unlocked the strange Nord mechanisms. Throwing a glance at Galmar, Fehn saw that he was staring intently – his brow positively set. She turned back to stare at the door as it fell away and sank into the floor, allowing them passage. Raising his axe, Galmar held up a hand and motioned for them to follow him through the opened door,

"Step lively."

He commanded in an undertone. Brandishing her sword, Fehn knelt and retrieved the claw before following Galmar as they traversed deeper into the crypt. With a gasp Fehn tripped over the debris of the ruined tomb as she wandered behind Galmar and Ralof.

"Watch where your walking, Imperial!"

Cried a Stormcloak soldier and thrust her forward. Fehn nodded a quick apology and continued to follow the general through the darkness. It wasn't long until their party found themselves facing a huge brightly lit chamber. Fehn gasped and squinted up at the tall podium. Galmar whistled and breathed,

"Now this is a tomb fit for a king…"

Fehn nodded along mutely. Indeed it was. The massive chamber was oval and elevated with a large stone throne sitting atop a marble summit. Fehn's eyes were reduced to slits as she tried to make out the figure who sat alone on the throne. She felt fear knot in her belly as she realised that the figure resembled one of the dreaded Draugre that seemed to pervade the entirety of Skyrim's crypts and tombs.

"Oh no…"

She started. Galmar gripped his axe and clapped her on the shoulder,

"Don't worry; he looks like he's sleeping. We'll creep up and savour the element of surprise. Everyone, duck low and follow me."

The party complied and sank low to their knees and slipped through the chamber silently. Fehn's chest was heaving as she grasped her sword with her good arm. The Stormcloaks in front of her seemed just as wary as she was; gripping their own axes tightly, they seemed to be awaiting danger. Flicking her gaze over to Ralof, Fehn nodded to the blond haired Nord. Catching her eye, Ralof's face cracked and he grinned while giving her a roguish wink.

"Nervous?"

He asked simply. Without taking her dark eyes off him, Fehn nodded mutely. Just as she did a look of genuine concern flashed across Ralof's face. Loosening his grip on his war axe, he reached out and gently patted her shoulder, leaning forward he said in a very low voice,

"Remember I have your back."

Touched, Fehn gently patted his forearm and smiled,

"And I have yours."

With a quick nod, Ralof's smile broadened,

"Then it is as it should be. Now let's get this damned crown."


	21. Of Crypts and Kings

Chapter XXI – Of Crypts and Kings

"Alright, soldiers, we get the crown, we go home. Nice and simple, now follow my lead. Ralof, you take point and lead Belthor and Kiriigan around the throne and set up a perimeter. The rest, you follow me."

With that they dispersed. Fehn followed closely behind Galmar. The general turned a swift eye on her,

"This is the priority here, Unblooded, get that crown at any costs."

Fehn nodded but shirked back a little as Galmar pressed his wrinkled face closer to her own,

"At _any_ costs, Imperial."

He growled. Fehn's throat contracted and she nodded again.

"Yes, general."

Galmar bobbed his head curtly and resumed his lead. The air was surprisingly crisp as they crept along an alcove, Fehn could feel cold sweat as it began to build on her forehead, every fibre of her body was telling her to stay alert. Without warning a loud crackling sound resonated along the rough walls. Snapping her head upwards, Fehn sucked in a breath when she saw a monstrous Draugre emerge from the walls. Debris temporarily blinded the Imperial, turning her back to the monster Fehn rapidly rubbed her eyes of the dust and flinched as she heard blades cross while she was incapacitated.

Dropping to her knees, Fehn scrambled aimlessly to retrieve her sword as more and more Draugre cornered the Stormcloak forces. Galmar snarled and viciously slashed at one of the Draugre with his axe, the satisfying crunch that sounded as the axe connected with the monstrous creature caused Galmar to shudder and in turn, land another swift punch on a second Draugre which came up behind him. Making a grab for her sword, Fehn laced her fingers around the pommel and tried to snatch it back; the blade didn't move an inch. Grimacing, Fehn tugged harder and stopped when she saw a large bony foot slam down on the flat of the blade.

The Imperial stopped tugging and gazed up slowly. Her eyes met with an arrow pointed directly at her. Focusing on the Draugre, Fehn locked eyes with the abomination,

"Unslaad…Krosis."

With that the monster unleashed a feral scream which made Fehn grip both her ears. Staring at the Draugre, Fehn's eyes widened as she realised the thing had a sword protruding from its belly. Narrowing her eyes, Fehn watched as the Draugre fell to the floor next to her. As the skeletal figure fell away, Ralof was revealed holding her sword and for the second time that evening, returned the Imperial's sword to her. Accepting the weapon, Fehn commented in an exasperated voice,

"Perfect timing, really, just perfect timing."

The Nord man nodded and frowned down at her,

"Watch yourself!"

Fehn returned the nod and her own brow furrowed as a Draugre smashed past Ralof and hurled him to the side. With a grunt the blond landed on the ground, Fehn braced herself and cast her sword aside and held her position as the Draugre drew nearer. Ralof watched astonished as Fehn caught and grappled with the monstrosity, gulping down air, Ralof thrust himself to his feet and slashed at a Draugre that was attempting to flank Fehn as she wrestled with the stinking husk. Suddenly Fehn let out a pained yelp causing Galmar to turn to her. She released another bellow as the Draugre growled and stuck his bony head into her own, head-butting her to the ground. Winded, Fehn grunted as the Draugre gripped a handful of her dark tresses and dragged her off the floor and into the air.

Grimacing, Fehn tried to dislodge herself from the creature's iron grip. She began to panic when she saw the Draugre inhale deeply and braced herself for the inevitable shout it was about to unleash onto her. Closing her eyes, Fehn held her breath – expecting the pain. It was excruciating. Screaming as the blast hit her, Fehn felt her limbs go limp as she was tossed across the chamber and down from the marble plateau. Yelping and grunting as she crashed down the cold, hard steps, Fehn's head was spinning as she finally sprawled out at the bottom with a dull thud. Her sword followed close behind with a metallic clatter to stand opposite the sound of her own delicate flesh thudding down the steps. Baring her teeth, Fehn slumped over on to her side and her vision blurred. Coughing loudly, the Imperial cursed the Draugre, rubbing her elbow which was hurting her, Fehn grabbed her sword and staggered up the steps to the plateau so she could resume the fight.

At the top of the steps was Galmar with an expression that was positively thunderous. Clasping her arm when she was close enough, the general thrust her forward into the fray,

"Defend your shield-siblings, milk drinker!"

Fehn threw him a dark look and parried a blow from an ancient battle axe as it fell towards her. Deftly, she managed to out-manoeuvre the hulking Draugre. Finally after another ten minutes of furious blows and flurries, the last of the wretched Draugre went down. Panting, the Stormcloak force was battered almost beyond repair. They had lost a further two men, now all they had left was Galmar, Fehn, Ralof and Kiriigan. Fehn was sitting on her heels recovering from the battle when the Stormcloak, Kiriigan offered her a gloved hand,

"You fought bravely there, Imperial."

She said in low voice which was filled with admiration. Fehn accepted the bigger woman's hand and scoffed,

"Please, I got thrown down a flight of stairs and I'm positive I may have a bruise on every single bit of my body."

The Stormcloak giggled and shook her head,

"Yes, we will all have a few scars after this war, but you mustn't lose hope. You are a warrior."

Graciously Fehn bobbed her head and thanked Kiriigan for her kind words and excused herself politely and regrouped with Galmar and Ralof. Galmar was absently grooming his gingery beard with his hand and listening to Ralof recount the news of their casualties, Galmar listened until Ralof was done before deciding grimly.

"We simply do not have the man-power or time to escort the bodies of the fallen home just now, Ralof. I'm afraid we'll need to send a party back after our return to Windhelm. This does not please me; every warrior is worth his salt down here…I hate to abandon anyone – even in death."

Fehn watched as Ralof nodded in agreement. Clapping the younger man on the shoulder, Galmar said,

"You have been invaluable in this campaign, Ralof, should you survive the next twenty minutes you'll be getting a recommendation to Ulfric."

Ralof had the sense not to beam at Galmar's praise, unlike Fehn. With another quick exchange, Galmar nodded for Ralof to rest up for a few moments before they went to retrieve the crown. Quietly Fehn watched Galmar approach her, the general had a steely glint in his eye. Standing before her, he folded his meaty arms over his chest and glared at her,

"Bad footwork, terrible balance, small physique, outrageous posturing and almost no natural talent! Tell me, Unblooded. What am I to do with you? I'll give you your due; you have guts, after a fall like that you did come back, but…"

Fehn's eyes narrowed as the general sighed and shrugged his broad shoulders,

"You just seem to be holding back, Imperial. Your mistakes could cost lives, I understand being an Imperial that Nord life may not hold much with you, but as your general and superior, I won't hesitate sticking you myself if your folly jeopardizes the mission or endangers the lives of your shield-siblings. Are we clear, Imperial?"

Fehn's jaw was set, her teeth grinding in her mouth. Stiffly she nodded her agreement and kept her eyes downcast. Tapping his nose, Galmar leaned in and said,

"Remember what I told you, girl; no one is above anyone here. Dragon blood or not."

As they gathered themselves together, Fehn playfully jabbed Ralof on the arm,

"Well look at that, I thought you were already an esteemed soldier?"

After a vacant glance Ralof cringed and rubbed the base of his neck,

"Oh yes, about that…Well, I've been with the Stormcloaks since the rebellion kicked off, but I spent much of that time training up with the other initiates and going to Serpent Island for my final initiation. Unlike you, we have no special treatment."

Although he had intended it as humour, Fehn was stung by Ralof's last remark,

"'Special treatment'?"

Ralof sobered once he realised what he had said,

"No, well you see, I didn't mean it like that, Fehn…"

He was cut off by her as she punched him again, this time much harder in the same place.

"Hey, watch it!"

Fehn glared at him,

"Believe me; I have never known special treatment in my life! The only special treatment I ever got was from General Tullius when he condemned me to die a noble's death up in this frozen dump as opposed to being strangled like a witch back home! So don't get on your high horse, Nord!"

There was a bitter silence between them. Clamping a hand over her mouth, Fehn's eyes were like orbs as she backed away and muttered,

"I-I didn't mean that."

Moving in closer, Ralof's face was a picture of anger. So unlike his face usually,

"'Nord'? Oh…I see, so you are just like the rest of them – those Imperials. And here I thought you and I were friends. Guess not, Imperial."

Fehn watched sadly as he stalked past her and drank deeply from a bottle of mead before giving the bottle to Kiriigan for a drink. Galmar – who had watched the interplay – said huskily,

"Alright, alright, let's drop this tenseness t' one another – at least save it for when you get back to Windhelm…If you get back to Windhelm. Now, since the Wonder Blades are having a spat, Kiriigan, Ralof, you take the beast from the sides and I and the Unblooded with give it a volley from the front. Imperial, that means you attack with the bow, while I swoop in and do the real damage. Just be sure to cover us in case any more bone-walkers decide to show."

Fehn frowned and her eyes were downcast,

"You…you're taking me out of the firing line? You're making me sentinel?"

Galmar turned to her unblinking,

"Yes, is there a problem?"

Even in their enmity, catching Ralof's eye, the Nord man closed his eyes and shook his head to prompt her to simply go along with what the general had ordered. Taking Ralof's silent advice, Fehn nodded and accepted her duty. With a brisk nod, Galmar brandished his axe and prowled up the rest of the marble steps and up towards the chambers main plateau. The one which harboured the Jagged Crown.

The chamber was silent as they kept to the shadows and silently stalked the seemingly sleeping figure who sat atop the stone throne. His bony skull was lolled over to the side and on his skinless fingers hung a few dozen rings. Fehn kept her arrow locked on the figure. She didn't like the simplicity of it all and felt a deep sense of dread every time she looked at the thing on the throne. On his head was the crown. Squinting at the unremarkable piece of decoration, Fehn felt a little put out by the sheer commonplace crown which sat pertly atop the Draugre king's head.

Standing behind Galmar, Fehn could feel her back seizing up on her as she held the string back. Suddenly a though struck her, lowering her bow, she placed a hand on Galmar's shoulder and whispered frantically,

"Quick! Get away from the walls!"

Galmar shot her a piercing look, but Fehn was serious. In one fluid movement, she tackled the general out of the shadows and into the bright light which illuminated the plateau. The general landed ungracefully in the middle of the large oval podium and turned a feral eye on Fehn,

"What in Oblivion d'you think you're doing?"

Fehn ignored him and instead signalled for Ralof and Kiriigan,

"Get away from the walls!"

Ralof frowned at her. Suddenly Kiriigan let out a scream as she was dragged back by the unseen Draugre prompting Ralof to delve deeper into the shadows to try and save her. Fehn's heart pounded as she heard the woman being pulled through the darkness and Ralof's pounding footsteps as he gave chase. Darting over the general, Fehn loped into the bright light and tried to remember the incantation for mage light. Precious moments were lost as she racked her brains trying to remember. Finally with a smile, Fehn managed to summon the orb of light and cast it into the shadows; bringing light to the Draugre who surrounded them. It also illuminated Kiriigan's mutilated corpse which was promptly being chewed on by a great hulking Draugre.

Ralof started as his eyes fell on Kiriigan – or what was left of her. Her head had been fully decapitated and was rolling around the stone floor; a wash of crimson matted her silvery hair. The Draugre that had killed her was dragging her headless body around the previously darkened chamber like a rag doll. Fehn made a face and nocked an arrow. Letting loose the projectile, she watched as it whizzed by Ralof and embedded itself into the murderous Draugre. With a howl the creature dropped Kiriigan's body and fell to the floor next to her dead. In the time it had taken Fehn to fell the Draugre, Galmar had made a swift recovery. Standing beside the Imperial, he caught her eye,

"Cover Ralof and me, I'll call if I need your sword arm."

Fehn fell back without argument and nocked another arrow and took aim. Taking care not to hit Galmar or Ralof, Fehn proceeded to kill at least about ten Draugre with her arrows alone while the men must have killed at least a score between them. Not once was Fehn's sword arm called upon. However at the end of the fight she was exhausted, sweat was pouring from her arms and head. She was just happy however that no more of them had been killed. Dropping her bow, Fehn fell to her knees and gasped for breath while Ralof and Galmar did the same. Fehn's eyes roamed the chamber, the floor was so filled with bones that she could not see the marble underneath. Getting to her feet she silently scoped around. Galmar came up beside her and scanned the room,

"The crown, where is the crown?"

Fehn felt her heart flutter. She had totally forgotten about the crown during the fight. Turning to the general, she simply shrugged and shook her head apologetically. Galmar only frowned deeper and began to turn over the bones in an attempt to find his master's crown. Suddenly Fehn felt a strange twitch and shook her head. Turning her head, she gazed at the empty throne where the Draugre with the Jagged Crown had been sitting. Moving towards the throne, Fehn poked her head behind the tall back of the throne and her eyes fell on a wall. It was covered in the same strange carvings that had been carved all over the last one in Bleak Falls Barrow. Stepping closer, she felt Ralof coming up alongside her and staring at the wall just as curiously as she was.

"What is that…that writing there?"

He asked her absently. Shaking her head, Fehn shrugged and said contemplatively,

"I can't read it, but I can understand it."

Pointing a finger out to one of the strange marks, she said to him,

"Like this one here, it means "slow time" or "the slowing of time" I can't explain it, but I can understand it even though I've never learned this language before."

Ralof cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Did you hurt your head?"

Fehn ignored him and leaned closer to the wall.

"Slow time? That'd come in handy wouldn't it? Ralof?"

Turning to the Nord, Fehn gasped. He was standing perfectly still, but she wasn't gasping at him, she was gasping at the huge Draugre with the Jagged Crown on his head that was poised behind him with a mace and ready to strike. The only odd thing was that the monster was moving at an unbelievably slow pace. Fehn's chest tightened as she realised that's he could still move. Drawing her sword, she moved Ralof and slipped her sword between the Draugre's protruding ribs. All of a sudden the slowness just stopped and Ralof jumped away from Fehn when he heard the crunch of the Draugre's bones and the loud crash it made as its hard body hit the floor.

Panting for breath, Fehn turned to Ralof,

"You're welcome."

Ralof's eyes were gaping. Gripping his hair, he shook his head and demanded,

"Did you just save me? H-how did you do that?"

Shaking her head, Fehn sighed and whispered,

"I don't know…I really don't know. I thought I was just speaking normally and then…everything just slowed down."

Fehn was relieved when Ralof smiled and placed his hands on his hips. Allowing his head to fall back, he breathed a sigh and turned to Galmar as the general appeared rubbing his head,

"Damn Draugre snuck up on me. Filthy bone-walkers, did either of you two get the crown?"

Fehn threw a quick glance at Ralof and widened her eyes in a plea for him not to mention the whole time bending incident to Galmar. The Nord took the hint and nodded to Galmar,

"Yes we did, this uh…this thing tried to creep up on us as well, but we dealt with it."

The general cocked an eyebrow at him and nodded suspiciously,

"Alright then. Unblooded, retrieve that crown and we'll take it back to Ulfric. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a feast with our names on it when we get back."


	22. Slow Dancing

Chapter XXII – Slow Dancing

"And now, to the fallen, drink!"

Hoisting his mead-filled goblet to the bright, well-lit ceiling, Ulfric Stormcloak drank deep and saluted the fallen Stormcloaks who had died in an attempt to recover the crown which he now wore on his head. The Palace of Kings was filled to the brim with peasants and Nobles alike, all partaking in a grand feast which Ulfric had ordered upon their arrival. The fountains were flowing with wine and the tables were ladled with sweet meats and delicacies. Sipping from her own goblet, Fehn was finding little joy in the revels; she was tired and sore and wanted nothing more than to just crawl down to the barracks and sleep. Most of all, she was down-right sad at the prospect of dancing to the memory of the men and women who had died only a few hours ago. Their bodies had been pulled from the ruins at the behest of Galmar and Ulfric and their combined funerals would be held on the morrow after their feast. Fehn had changed out of her cuirass and was now wearing a simple belted tunic of blue and a darker navy blue. Her hair was pulled back revealing her small delicate features and her big brown eyes. The rest of her dark hair fell about her shoulders and she decided to remain barefoot during the feast. Sitting at the long table, Fehn was seated beside Ulfric's steward, Jorleif. General Galmar Stone-Fist was seated at Ulfric's right hand side.

Directly across from Fehn sat Ralof, an impressive bruise had formed under her left eye and was slowly spreading down his rugged cheek. Fehn had a similar wound on her head; a bruise that stretched from her hairline down to her eyebrow decorated her skin, which caused her pain every time she blinked. Rubbing her eyes, Fehn tried to stifle a yawn. Suddenly pain rocketed up her ankle, glaring up at her attacker; Fehn was surprised to see Galmar shaking his head at her. Leaning over her beef, Fehn hissed,

"Oh, what? It was just one yawn!"

Galmar leaned forward too,

"Yes, but the steward from Riften's here – mind your manners."

Fehn's shoulders slumped and she resumed staring at her beautifully cooked dinner. Ulfric as Jarl hadn't spared any costs for the feast, in fact, he had insisted on the peasants getting good helpings too. Although Fehn noticed that the Dunmer of Windhelm were not present what so ever – this immediately irked her. The sound of clinking disturbed her vacant staring and Fehn turned her attention to the steward from Riften. She was a tall Altmer with golden skin, pearly white hair and – commonplace amongst Mer – blood red eyes which shone like rubies. Fehn was actually taken aback by the Altmer's beauty, Fehn had typically never thought that the High Elves were even relevantly good looking, but this one was indeed very striking. Fehn had to supress a giggle as she realised that her good looks were lost on these Nord men, as far as they were concerned she and her kin were the very reason they were having this feast, the very reason they had to fight and die.

Fehn watched unblinking as the Altmer began her speech.

"People of Windhelm, it is my great pleasure as steward to Lalia Law-Giver of Riften, it is my utmost joy to relay the news to you that we, the people of Riften, shall support Ulfric and his Stormcloaks in this campaign against the Empire! May your blades never dull and may you reign victorious in your endeavours and know that the gates of Riften are open to only the true sons and daughters of Skyrim!"

This speech was well crafted and elicited a great pounding of tankards against the tables, woops and whistles resonated throughout the hall as the Altmer flashed a brilliant smile and toasted them with her own goblet. Getting to his feet, Ulfric nodded his head and smiled at the elf,

"Thank you Lady Anuriel, your mistress's support is indeed welcome in these difficult times, and please relay to her upon your return to Riften that if she needs a few able men to flush out that Ratway for her, she need only ask."

The jest went down well, but Fehn was sure she saw a flicker of annoyance flit across Anurial's face. None-the-less, it was gone within the blink of an eye and the elf returned Ulfric's nod and smiled at him before returning to her seat. Fehn watched glacially as the politicians in the room clandestinely insulted one another, catching Ulfric's eye, the Jarl winked and clapped his hands and demanded music. As he returned to his seat, Fehn enquired,

"What's a 'Ratway'?"

To her surprise the Jarl unleashed a thunderous laugh and slapped his knee. When he finally sobered, he pointed a thumb at Fehn and said to Galmar with mirth,

"'What's a Ratway?'!"

There was another explosion of laughter as Galmar slammed his fist down onto the table and spluttered,

"Oh gods! You really are Unblooded!"

Fehn frowned confused. Shaking her head, she began to giggle along with them. Finally, wiping a tear from his eye, Ulfric answered her,

"Ah, well, the Ratway is what is known as the city under the city in Riften. It's where the Thieves Guild makes their home – where they plot and scheme. Riften is the crime capital in all of Skyrim, a truly dangerous place, even some of the hardest have been shanked in Riften's alleyways."

Fehn nodded and asked,

"And Riften puts up with that?"

Galmar chuckled into his tankard and nodded as Ulfric smiled again and looked at Galmar and then back at Fehn,

"Well, yes. There's the joke, you don't seriously think I actually need Lalia's support do you? No, no, Lalia's a player like me – she knows which side her bread's buttered. That's why she's not here tonight; the woman can barely keep her sewers in check, let alone a Hold!"

Galmar lost it then, throwing his head down on the table, the general buckled and laughed so hard he shook the whole table. Ulfric joined him and together they laughed themselves near to death like a pair of school boys. Fehn shook her head like a matron and went back to her dinner – her spirits lifted a little.

Soon the dancing and drinking became much more animated. People's dancing became much sloppier as the mead flowed. Fehn's cheeks were flushed as she tottered around on bare feet to the music the bards were playing. Laughing at the large Nord men and their attempts at deftness in their footwork, Fehn clapped her hands and praised them, but was secretly astounded that the only dancing the men of Skyrim knew was the way of the sword and the footwork of the one who parries a blow. Fehn was a little chilled when she noticed Galmar eyeing her from across the hall. Staring at the general, he motioned for her to come to him. Fehn excused herself from the dancing and did as she was bid. Approaching the general, she smiled sweetly,

"You wanted to see me, general?"

Galmar snorted and remarked,

"Don't be coy with me. No, I didn't beckon you as a wench, you dullard. I wanted to ask you why those little feet can kick at bloody clouds when there's music behind them, but when you've got a sword in your hand you're like a mammoth on ice?"

Fehn gawped.

"Uh, I-I don't know…I know I'm a little clumsy, but I get by."

Galmar shook his head and said gravely,

"That just won't do. 'Getting by' isn't enough, Imperial, you have to apply yourself and really sort out your footwork and form. In fact, after we take Whiterun and garrison the place, you and I will be enlisting your Companion friends to fix you right up. Everyone needs to hone their skills, girl, you are no exception. Now, go on. Go enjoy the rest of the evening; Talos knows this is the last peace we'll get after the week is out. Go on."

Fehn gave him a shallow bow and returned to the throng of dancers. Suddenly, she felt a hand grab her arm gently,

"May I have everyone's attention please!"

Fehn gaped as Ulfric then grabbed Ralof in a similar fashion. Dragging the two through the crowd, he stood them at either side of him and addressed his guests,

"I would like to announce that from here on in, this man here,"

He nodded at Ralof and squeezed his shoulder,

"…and this woman beside me,"

He pulled Fehn in closer.

"From this moment, this man shall be known as Ice Bane and this woman here, Storm Blade! These two are hence forth now captains in my army! After the bravery and camaraderie that has been shown between these two already, I can think of no others I would have at the helm of two of my forces. Please, accept my most gracious thanks in retrieving my crown, and after this war, after we win this war!"

Fehn listened as the Jarl paused for effect; the whole crowd was hanging on his every word,

"When we win this war I would extend to you both an invitation to live in my city! I would be honoured."

With that, Ulfric Stormcloak turned to Fehn and Ralof and placed his hand on his breast,

"My friends, you have shown loyalty, you have shown bravery, you are the very embodiment of what a Stormcloak should be."

Fehn smiled a little thinly and Ralof stood stoic as the Jarl smiled at them and returned to his audience,

"And now, for some more mead!"

There was a roar of approval from the guests; although Fehn could see a few of them eye her darkly. Bravery or no bravery, to them she was still just an Imperial. Gazing over at Ralof, Fehn smiled,

"Captain Ice Bane?"

Ralof cringed,

"Yeah, you got the better name I think."

Fehn laughed at that and batted him away. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she said apologetically,

"I'm so sorry. While we were in Korvanjund I was horrible to you and you did nothing but back me up…Please accept my apology."

The Nord chuckled heartily and fixed the leather belt which held shut the smart jacket he had on over his fine clothes,

"It's no problem, Fehn. War is stressful; I'd think it strange if you weren't a little tense."

The Imperial laughed softly and turned her eyes back to him,

"You're a good friend."

His face was sober as he gazed out over the masses, the drunken men arm wrestling, and the giddy people who all had their arms slung over someone or other and he smiled without looking at her.

"And so are you, dance?"

Fehn frowned,

"You dance?"

Ralof laughed and escorted her through the heavy-footed crowd and spun her a little,

"Well, my mother – the matriarch of Riverwood – she had a thing about making me and Gerdur dancing at the village fete every year. Every god damn year I had to practice with my lumbering sister, good hips to hold Frodner as Hod says, but terribly burly for dancing."

Fehn's mouth fell and she batted his arm playfully,

"That's a horrible way to talk about your sister!"

Ralof shrugged and said quickly,

"No, what's horrible is spending your childhood being battered by your sister and standing beside her while she gets touted for the army while you get asked if you would like to braid the other girl's hair!"

A bark of laughter erupted from Fehn as she danced with him,

"Well, you must have been more feminine without the beard, I'll agree. But Gerdur's beautiful, and all Nord women are…bigger."

Ralof nodded in agreement,

"Yes, you women from Cyrodiil, you're tiny."

Fehn laughed again as the music continued to play. Suddenly she was very aware that she had been dancng with Ralof without switching partners for a long time and laughing so wantonly was bound to be frowned upon by the Nords. Without warning, she pressed her hands up against his torso and pushed him back gently,

"I really should get some sleep, I mean we have the funerals tomorrow and I don't want to be groggy."

He didn't complain, instead he simply bowed and smiled at her.

"If that is what you wish, my friend."

Fehn nodded and touched his arm,

"Thank you for the dance – the matriarch taught you well."

He laughed and shrugged his shoulders,

"Well, she did try."

There was a pause as neither of them had anything more to say, Fehn clasped her hands together and looked up at him from under her eyelashes,

"Tiid."

The room's ambiance suddenly shifted, the walls became a pearly shade of blue and the figures now danced around them slowly, barely moving at all in fact. Fehn sighed and said very quietly to the practically frozen Ralof in front of her,

"Be safe tomorrow."

Just then, the slowness snapped back and everything resumed at a normal pace. Ralof frowned down at her and said,

"Did you say something to me there?"

Fehn smiled and cocked an eyebrow at him,

"You sure it wasn't you who hurt your head? No, I didn't say a word."

Ralof's brow furrowed and he shrugged,

"Oh well, I guess this is goodbye until Whiterun."

Widening her eyes, Fehn smiled and nodded,

"Yes…"

Ralof took a step closer and said quietly,

"You…you will be careful won't you?"

Fehn waved his comment away.

"Of course I will, like Galmar's gonna' let me die. Good luck tomorrow on your assignment."

Ralof bobbed his head and thanked her.

"You'll be the one who'll need the luck tomorrow; I wish I could be there to see the dead off to Sovngarde."

Fehn felt a pang of sadness and fear grip her,

"Believe me; I'd take apprehending a caravan full of supplies to lighting those torches any day, my friend."


	23. Funeral Pyres

Chapter XXIII – Funeral Pyres

"_Now, tell me when. Does this hurt more than this? Or is this more painful?"_

_He grunted as she thrust the knife further and further between his ribs, _

"_Damn you! Damn you devils to the Void!"_

_The Altmer's mouth curled into a wicked smirk, _

"_So, which was more painful, I can give you another demonstration if you like?"_

"_You evil witch, stop it! You'll kill him!"_

_With a sigh the elf rolled her crimson eyes, _

"_Kill that fool – we have the main prize anyway. Now tell me, Ulfric, a nod if yes and a shake if no, which is more painful?"_

_The sound of blade connecting with flesh sounded from behind the elf and Ulfric closed his eyes in mourning. He grunted again as the dagger slid through his flesh for what must have been the hundredth time. The pain was so intense that he could feel his stomach churning; he would be ashamed to vomit in front of these monsters – not that he could, for the gag which had been tied to prevent him from using the Thu'um was wrapped tightly around his face. Opening his blue eyes, his vision flickered as it focused on the elf, his interrogator, his torturer, Elenwen._

_Caressing his face, she cooed, _

"_Oh, but you must stay awake. You must stay awake so that you can tell me everything I wish to know. And you will, Ulfric Stormcloak, you __**will**__ tell me everything."_

Fehn awoke after the night of the feast with the most grotesque headache she had every experienced in her life. Blinking a few times to focus her eyes, she immediately groaned and gripped her forehead. Due to the bruise however, she soon realised her mistake when more pain shot through her head. With a hiss and a curse, she flopped herself back down onto her cot and sighed,

"Got to get up, Stormblade. Got a funeral to go to, here put these on."

Fehn caught the garments and gazed at them curiously, staring back at the guard, Fehn asked,

"Why can't I just wear a tunic, or my armour?"

The guard shrugged and shook his head,

"Why do we Nords not feel the cold? Why are you Imperials greedy bastards? Who knows? Its tradition or whatever I suppose."

Blinking at the guard, Fehn cocked an eyebrow,

"What?"

The guard sighed impatiently and made a break for the door,

"What I mean is that its tradition and you gotta' wear that. Now hurry up an' get dressed, we send the poor sods to Sovngarde in an hour – you might want to wash your face, you have dirt on your head."

Fehn frowned and retorted darkly,

"It's a bruise."

The guard bobbed his head and shrugged his shoulders carelessly.

"Oh, well then, forget it."

With that he left her alone.

The city of Windhelm was sombre as the people lined the narrow streets, their heads bowed in remembrance for the dead. Fehn followed the troupe mourners as they followed a priest of Arkay to the site where the dead would be cast alight and sent off to Sovngarde. Walking beside another Stormcloak, Fehn felt a little foolish as to the protocols of Nord funerals, all she knew was that the Nord ways were quite unlike the ways of the people in Cyrodiil. Pulling at her sleeves, she took a deep breath and tried to remain poised as she matched the slow deliberate pace the procession was taking. There was a break in the troupe as Galmar stalked up alongside her,

"Hmm, Ulfric's not made his appearance yet. You know that your promotion to captain is not final yet, Stormblade?"

Fehn nodded while keeping her eyes forward,

"In your eyes you mean?"

Galmar chuckled without smiling,

"Exactly, whelp. But Ulfric needs to own you, Skyrim needs to own you. If you really are the Dragonborn – better to have you on our side."

Turning to the general, Fehn hissed,

"Really, we're on our way to a funeral, general."

His eyes darted to her and narrowed,

"Yes, we are. Just remember that you're still my underling – you still need to learn your place."

Silently Fehn turned her head and rolled her eyes so he couldn't see her. It was not the first time she had been told that she had to mind her place. Closing her eyes, she began to think about the impending battle for Whiterun. She wondered if Jarl Balgruuf had declared her the city's enemy, it saddened her to think that the people of Whiterun would disdain her after the hospitality and kindness she had been shown there. She hoped Hulda knew that she would bring back Amicus soon, and that the older woman didn't believe the slander that that damn Dunmer, Irileth, was no doubt spreading. Soon enough their procession came to a sudden halt at the city graveyard.

Fehn stood beside Galmar and stared curiously at the pyres which had been lined up beside each other. Four pyres stood before them, Fehn felt her stomach sink as she gazed upon poor Kiriigan's. The Stormcloak's corpse had been wrapped up in linen so tightly to give the appearance of a full body, as the dreaded Draugre had proceeded to literally tear the unfortunate Nord apart. The priest began his prayers and closed his eyes in reverence to Arkay,

"Today we commend the brave souls who fell with blades in their hands and fire in their hearts. Today we commend them to the Glittering Hall, to the Eternal Chambers of Sovngarde where they will dine and dance with Ysgramor and Talos. May their blessed souls be welcomed into those halls."

A drum began to beat and there was a great wail of heartache from the mothers and sisters of the fallen. The fathers and brothers stood stoic and cradled their grieving wives, sisters and daughters. Fehn felt another fresh pang of sadness. She had been to a very few funerals in her lifetime, but even they, the funerals had been in remembrance of her beloved brother, father and mother, none of them were quite as heart-breaking as the one she was in precedence over today. The sobs of the families were what made it unbearable in Fehn's opinion, when she buried her father and brother; she had been consumed with a silent woe which made her brooding and distant, cold and disconnected. When her mother had died, she was far too young to really grasp the feeling of sorrow for someone's death. Still, being in amongst the crowd and watching as the fathers of their daughters and sons who lay cold and lifeless on pyres of hay set the wooden structures alight, it was something she regarded as one of the most sorrowful sights she had ever seen.

There was silence as the fires consumed the dead. Fehn kept her head bowed and prayed to Arkay that the dead would dine in Sovngarde, or at the very least, find peace. After a minute or so, Fehn's head bobbed up as she realised that the Jarl had still yet to show. Leaning in closer to Galmar, Fehn whispered softly,

"Where's Ulfric?"

In a clandestine motion, Galmar shrugged and whispered quietly – his lips barely moving,

"I don't know, he never misses things like this. Too much mead perhaps?"

Fehn was taken aback. That seemed like a poor excuse to miss the funerals of the men and women who were fighting and dying for him.

"I hope you're wrong about that."

She stated flatly causing the general to gaze at her. Keeping her eyes forward, Fehn ignored him as he glared.

"And I hope that's not criticism."

Soon after the procession of mourners began to disperse and leave the families to their sorrowfulness. Making her way back to the barracks in the palace, Fehn walked at a brisk pace as she was eager to get back to bed and sleep off her pounding hangover. Stepping into the Palace of Kings, the joy of the previous night's revels had been replaced by the resounding feeling of woefulness. The tables were draped in black and many candles had been lit. Jorleif greeted Fehn as she entered the main hall, bowing to her, he said in a calm and quiet tone,

"Ah, Stormblade, you've returned. The pyres have been lit and the dead will be on their way to Sovngarde. I am saddened to my very core at the loss, but such is war I suppose. Anyway, the Jarl wishes to see you in the ready room, if you could go to him now."

Fehn smiled at the steward and bid him farewell. Making her way to the ready room which was to the side of main hall, Fehn found Ulfric bent over a map with little blue and red flags dotted all over the dry parchment. Taking a few tentative steps forward, Fehn said,

"We missed you at the funeral."

The Jarl did not answer straight away; instead he simply heaved his large shoulders and said completely out of context,

"I am a Jarl and a soldier. I must never relent in my stance as anything other than formidable, Imperial. I must be above reproach, yet I find that I was troubled by a nightmare last night and found that I could not face such a sad day and keep my own emotions in check. Some will see this as complacency, as coldness. But I can tell you that every man and woman I lose on that battlefield pains me as though a piece of my very soul dies with them. I hope people will understand – though, I know they won't. That's why you did not see me today."

Unnerved, Fehn moved closer and stared at him from over the table,

"I'm sorry…I didn't realise…"

With a wave of his hand he silenced her and stood upright. Turning his face to her, he said,

"It doesn't matter. I wanted to see you; we will take Whiterun for the heroes we lost this week. As a captain now, I am giving you a great responsibility,"

Fehn stood quiet, eager to hear what her orders would be.

"You are not suited for leadership, no; don't look at me like that. You're not. But, I think as a special agent, an ace in the hold if you will, you are perfect. Your orders are to secure the bridge and lower it so that our forces may enter the city. You're smaller than the other soldiers, more nimble. I think you would be perfectly suited for this solo task. After you've lowered the bridge, I want you to station yourself on the wall and take out as many of the guards as you possibly can with a bow."

Fehn averted her gaze and held her hands behind her back,

"Sentinel position."

She muttered. Raising an eyebrow at her, Ulfric leaned forward placing his hands on the rough wooden table,

"Yes, sentinel position. I have heard that you are quite adept with a bow, but your sword work needs some tuning."

Losing her temper, Fehn interjected,

"You don't have to molly-coddle me! I've survived this long using my skills! I saved your arse in Falkreath with those very same skills."

She shirked as the Jarl's eyes narrowed,

"If you had been anybody else I would have cut you down myself for insubordination. Until I can trust you, you will do whatever I bloody well tell you! You took an oath to obey me! To obey when I tell you to do something, if sending you up the top of a blasted mountain would benefit Skyrim, then you can be damn sure that you'd be sitting atop the Throat of The World freezing your arse off!"

She was silent as his anger was spent. Ulfric's face softened and he rubbed his beard. He looked tired and dogged, Fehn almost felt guilty for questioning him. With a sigh, he turned to her,

"Listen, Stormblade. I won't lie to you. You are a very valuable asset. One that I cannot send into the fray until I know exactly what you are capable of, trust me when I say that I am not casting you in the roll of a black sheep. I just do not know where you would fit into an infantry."

Fehn watched as the Nord bent down under the table and retrieved something. He appeared a moment later with a beautifully ornate bow which appeared to have been crafted from agar. The arc was decorated with swirls and little symbols, common amongst most Nord weapons. The two curves were lovingly crafted to be nearly exactly symmetrical and the dark wood shone from being polished. Fehn gasped and took the weapon from the Jarl's hands,

"I thought you would need a proper bow. A longbow is fine if you're hunting sabrecats, but you'll need something more refined to carry into battle. The bow was named, Riktigt, but you may name her as you please. I also took the liberty of having Oengul – our smith – craft you some glass arrows. I hope you put these gifts to good use."

Fehn studied the fine bow and breathed her thanks. Placing the arrows and bow on her back, she nodded to Ulfric,

"I accept your orders, Jarl Ulfric, and thank you for these gifts."

The Jarl accepted her thanks and returned to his studying of the map before him. Assuming their conversation over, Fehn turned and walked towards the door. A thought struck her and she stopped in the doorway, placing a hand on the cool wood of the doorframe, she turned to Ulfric and enquired,

"You didn't dream of the Night Mother last night did you?"

The Jarl's head slowly bobbed up and he gazed at her curiously, suddenly he smiled and cocked an eyebrow,

"Aha, no, no, someone who is far worse than a whispering corpse."

Fehn returned his smile and asked,

"Who then?"

Ulfric's cheerful demeanour vanished and a shadow crossed his face. Looking down, he balled his fist and muttered darkly,

"An old foe."


	24. Silent Maiden

Chapter XXIV – Silent Maiden

Fehn's breath fell short from behind her black hood. Black linen was wrapped tightly around her face and feet. The night fell heavy on the city of Whiterun as Fehn slipped around the wall like a shadow. Her task was simple; open and secure the bridge which lead into the city. A squad of four hundred or so Stormcloaks were camped in the flat tundra that surrounded Whiterun, the two opposing forces were at a stalemate, or so the enemies thought. Proventus Avenicci had personally come down to the Stormcloak pavilion invoking a rite of parley with Galmar. Fehn felt her stomach tighten as she looked upon the steward, who had in turn glared at her with hatred. Galmar had listened to the terms of Whiterun's Jarl, Balgruuf the Greater and scoffed. Proventus's chest had swelled as Galmar sent him away with the demand that Balgruuf tell his guards to lay down their arms and surrender to the force of his army and swear fealty to Ulfric or be laid to waste in his own city. There was no response.

The torches of Whiterun shone brightly in the night and the guards were on high alert. The first wave of combat was due to begin in less than two hours. Fehn had so far managed to take down the guards who were guarding the stables. Hiding the bodies in the hay bays turned out to be more difficult than Fehn had anticipated; Balgruuf had stationed his beefiest and most physically daunting around the walls and outskirts of Whiterun. After twenty minutes of panting, dragging and lifting, Fehn had finally managed to hide the bodies.

Creeping up the walkway towards the city, Fehn ducked behind the wall of the main archway, stealing a glance at the sentinel who was posted on the tower, Fehn nocked an arrow. Taking aim, the Imperial loosed the arrow and in flew straight and true hitting its mark. From behind her makeshift cowl, Fehn watched as the guard fell over the small fence and landed outside the walls and into the tundra. The linen wrapped around her feet muffled her footsteps as she stole her way up towards the bridge, her eyes darted around as she heard the sound of the guards up ahead talking in hushed tones.

"I can't believe Ulfric's actually sent a force to Whiterun."

One of them whispered frightfully, his companion scoffed and retorted,

"Humph, well, he'll get what he bargained for when he finds out that all his faithless bastards lie dead at the foot of our walls."

"You think we can stop them?"

Asked the other,

"Friend, I know we can stop them. We've just got to keep our wits about us…"

He was cut off as a blade struck him in the back and burst out of his chest. The other guard didn't have a chance to sound an alarm as Fehn deserted her sword and pulled a dagger from her belt and smoothly silenced him by slitting his throat. Ripping her blade free from the first guard, Fehn ducked low and slinked back into the shadows with a feral grace which seemed to come naturally to her. Blinking back sweat, she looked up at the wooden walkways which lead to the sentinel slots on the wall. From the shadows, Fehn counted six archers on the wall, with another breath she moved quietly up towards the walkways, hoisting herself up she threw a leg over the edge and crouched on the wooden beams for a moment. She could see the Stormcloak camp in the distance, raising her hand she cast mage light and left it hovering on the wooden ledge.

Galmar had been staring at the city of Whiterun for the better part of four hours when he finally saw the flicker of white-blue light. Raising his fist, he grunted,

"Finally! Alright, men, get your weapons ready. Stormblade is almost in position; I want this to be a quick campaign. Let's show those blasted martyrs who the real sons and daughters of Skyrim truly are!"

Through the sudden burst of movement and preparation, Ralof moved forward and said to Galmar,

"General, I had a message that Fehn wanted me to tell you when she was in position, "

Galmar eyed the Nord and said gruffly,

"Well, spit it out, boy."

Ralof nodded and tried to remember Fehn's message word for word,

"The horse that she rode on from Windhelm was Hulda's if anything happens to her, she'll personally gut anyone that harms the horse. Stormcloak or Legionare."

Galmar cocked a bushy eyebrow and looked back at the tiny orb of light which shone from Whiterun. Nodding to the distant orb, Galmar turned back to Ralof and asked shortly,

"Anything else?"

Ralof shook his head,

"No, sir."

Galmar bobbed his head to him,

"Alright, captain, return to your post, I'll deal with the horse."

With that, Ralof sprinted off and re-joined his detachment. Taking long strides, Galmar made his way over to the camp's stables and crooked his finger to the young lad who was tending the horses,

"You see that honey coloured mare over there?"

The boy craned his neck and stared over at Amicus, rounding on Galmar, he nodded.

"Well that mare is very precious to me, you hear me? Precious. Now, when the battle ensues, I want you to stay here and look after that horse, obviously the fight'll take place in the city walls, but even if it spills out onto the tundra, you defend that beast with your life. You understand?"

The boy's throat contracted as he gulped down his fear of the general, saluting Stone-Fist, he shouted enthusiastically,

"Yes, general!"

Patting his skinny shoulder, Galmar swept past him.

"Good lad."

Keeping perfectly still, Fehn pulled herself up and gazed over the stone ledge which overlooked the city. The strain on her arms was burning, however, taking a breath, her dark eyes bored into the back of an archer, who had his feet rested up on the wall. She could hear light snoring coming from him. In a fluid motion, she heaved herself over the ledge soundlessly and landed daintily on the other side. Producing her dagger, Fehn moved towards the sleeping guard, sweat dripped down from her forehead and slowly trickled down to her eyes and nose. Blinking it away, she softly closed in on the unsuspecting guard and shanked him with her dagger.

A surprised grunt escaped the guard but nothing else. Fehn used his lifeless body for cover as another sentinel moved over to his dead companion,

"Urgh, long night, huh?"

Fehn held her breath.

"Hey, Thane, are you sleeping?"

With that, Fehn sprang up and gripped the guard's shoulders and pulled him over his friend's dead body. Wrestling him to the ground, Fehn used her dagger and slipped it under his arm. He let out a whimper of pain and silently slipped away. Fehn's shoulders heaved as adrenalin pulsed through her body; sweat was now pouring from her forehead which she promptly wiped away. Peering over Thane's body, she saw the back of another sentinel. She knew that a further three were behind him. Suddenly an idea struck her, as quietly as she could she slipped over Thane's body and nocked an arrow. Aiming the arrow at the back of the sentinel, she loosed it at his oblivious back.

The sentinel let out a cry of pain and fell to his knees; Fehn felt a drop of sweat run down her nose only to be absorbed by the linen that covered the tip of it. As soon as the second sentinel was revealed, Fehn drew another arrow and fitted it into Riktigt. Everything slowed down for a moment as she took aim, the second sentinel turned quickly to see what the commotion was, behind him; Fehn could see the other two turning too. Letting go of her arrow, Fehn watched as it whooshed through the air and embedded itself in the sentinel's head.

The impact caused him to bend back furiously before he fell to the ground. Fast as light, Fehn had another arrow in Riktigt which she let loose at the third sentinel who didn't have time to nock his own arrow. He was felled quickly enough after the second; the fourth sentinel however, had time to nock an arrow which he let fly at Fehn. Dodging the projectile, Fehn grimaced as she banged her shoulder on the stone wall. With her distracted the guard turned and ran towards the large horn at the end of the wall. Fehn's heart pumped quickly and without thinking gave chase to the guard. Loping over the dead bodies of the other archers, Fehn tackled the guard to the ground. As they fell, his helmet flew off and landed with a metallic clank. The guard elbowed Fehn in the collarbone as they scrambled in the slim walkway. Fehn managed to flip the guard as he bared his teeth at her, wrapping her hands around his neck; she strangled him into submission and silence.

The silence which hung in the air made Fehn stop breathing for a moment as she though the noise would disturb it. Pulling the linen down from her mouth, she let out a huge sigh and leaned back on the wall. Taking a moment to collect herself before signalling to Galmar, Fehn unwrapped the linen from her feet and allowed the blood to pump back into them before casting mage light for the last time. At the flicker of the arcane light, Fehn felt her stomach tighten; this was where the fight really began.


	25. Siege of Whiterun

Chapter XXV – Siege of Whiterun

Dawn broke silently and peacefully. Fehn watched as the first pink and yellow lights flickered over the horizon and felt a huge pang of homesickness envelope her. It was to be a sunny day in Skyrim today. Fehn almost wished it would snow so that she would not be reminded of her beloved homeland, Cyrodiil. The morning was disturbed as an arrow was released into the sky from the Stormcloak camp; a red rag was tied around the shaft. Fehn watched keenly. That was the signal.

There was a commotion in the city as the guards of Whiterun readied themselves for an attack. Getting to her feet, Fehn peeped out through the sentinel slots at the guards who were huffing and puffing as they lifted large spiky barriers. They placed the barriers up before the various houses and shops which littered the city, Fehn watched as screaming women and children were herded inside their homes and promises of safe return were made by their husbands, fathers and brothers. Fehn's heart wrenched at the sight but pushed it to the back of her mind. _This is something that we have to do. _She reasoned to herself and began her preparations.

"Alright, men, today we take the heart of Skyrim! Today, we begin her liberation, Skyrim will be FREE! Your courage and endurance shall see us through this battle! Your blood and the blood of our enemies will run today, but let's make sure that these Imperial sympathisers do not get the better of us, the truest of Nords! The very best that Skyrim has to offer! Now, we march, now we will fight. For Skyrim, men! For Skyrim, CHARGE!"

There was a roar as the Stormcloaks banged their axes on their shields and lunged forward. With Galmar at the forefront, they barrelled up the walkway past the stables unchecked and unopposed thanks to Fehn's eliminations a few hours earlier. While Fehn was sorting her arrows she heard the guards cry,

"They approach! The Stormcloaks, they approach now! Arm yourselves and protect the bridge, archers!"

Brandishing her bow, Fehn took aim at the Stormcloak forces before firing her arrow at the Whiterun guard who was shouting commands. He went down quickly and Fehn nocked another arrow. Aiming at the Whiterun force which was running out headlong towards the Stormcloaks, Fehn fired an arrow at the guard who was about to engage in combat with Galmar. The general grinned when the guard fell with a glass arrow protruding from his back, raising a fist, the general bellowed,

"Cover the forces, Stormblade!"

She barely managed to hear him, but she understood. Fitting a third arrow into Riktigt, Fehn aimed at the flood of guards who were pouring down the walkway, the bridge was being closed periodically to allow only a short burst of guards out at a time. Abandoning the Stormcloaks for a moment, Fehn turned and aimed at the other side of the wall. She could see the huge wooden doors which led into Whiterun and the large force which was there in standby. Lining up her arrow, she fired it at the rope pulley which held the scaffold aloft. There was a cry as the wooden structure tumbled down on the fall-back force. As the structure fell, Fehn ducked behind the walls as a shout rang up from the courtyard,

"Archers! Watch were you fire your damn arrows!"

Sweat trickled down her face and without thinking she slipped on the helmet that one of the archers had been wearing. With the helmet on, Fehn popped up and saluted the guard who gave the command and turned her back to fire on the other side. She was happy to have caused considerable damage to the reserve force behind the bridge and felt that now would be a perfect time to lower it. Nocking an arrow, Fehn fired on the guards who were in a flurry with the Stormcloaks a little down the way, catching a glimpse of Galmar, Fehn fired an arrow and it landed between his feet.

The general's head snapped up and he watched the sentinel slots raptly. Fehn sheathed her bow, pulling off the guard's helmet and took a long and deep breath. Summoning her Thu'um, she bellowed down to the forces,

"FUSRODAH!"

Galmar and the rest of the combatants all fell back a little at the sheer power of the shout. Raising his battle axe, he screamed in the heat of the fray,

"That's the signal! That's the signal, men! Drive on to the bridge!"

Fehn nodded as the Stormcloaks pushed the Whiterun guards back to the unopened bridge. Running down the length of the slim walkway, Fehn gripped the lever which the archers used to drop the bridge. There was a massive crack of wood as the bridge almost protested at being lowered, the chains rattled as the massive plank fell and the small chasm which stopped the Stormcloaks getting through was bridged. There were shouts of confusion from the courtyard below and Fehn could hear the guards panicking. Gripping her bow, Fehn nocked another arrow and aimed at the thick of the guards, taking out a few here and there. The Whiterun guards pointed and screamed their hatred at her, brandishing their own bows; they shot a volley up at her. Ducking behind the wall, Fehn panted and tried to catch a glimpse at the battle on the other side. She could hear the sounds of footsteps on wood and assumed that the Stormcloaks must have at least managed to push the guards back to the bridge. Peeking out over the wall, Fehn grinned when she saw the blue livery of the Stormcloaks mingling with the yellow of the reserve force in the courtyard.

The sound of sword of sword, metal reverberating off metal was deafening. From her elevated spot, Fehn could see everything; she could see that the Stormcloaks were falling a little short at the tail-end of their force, so, upon noticing that, Fehn made sure to cover them. When she saw that Galmar was in a scuffle with a lot of guards as he edged his way closer to Whiterun's main gate, she covered him with her arrows. Casting a glance up to her, the general nodded which she returned. Raising her arm to him, he repaid the gesture in kind. Fehn watched as the general commanded his forces to the gate, there was a great throng of Stormcloaks outside the gate – most of the Whiterun guards lay dead in the dirt. In the confusion Fehn found it difficult to see anything other than Stormcloaks, frowning, she moved a little further down the walkway to get a better view.

Suddenly the gates opened and the Stormcloaks were pushed back, Fehn watched awestruck as a huge battalion of Whiterun guards were at the other side of the gates, and they had catapults.

"Fall back!"

Yelled Galmar and the forces fell back, some slipped in the blood-stained dirt, while others were dragged down by wounded guards. Fehn's heart skipped as she saw the catapults being primed for firing. Taking aim at the guards manning the leviathan weapons, she let loose a small volley at them. She hissed in annoyance as she only managed to take down two of the three guards and watched horrified as the catapult was launched. The fiery globe flew through the air and smashed down on the Stormcloak and Whiterun forces alike, Fehn's eyes widened as she watched the Stormcloaks get pummelled by the projectiles. Grabbing the fur boots from the feet of a dead archer beside her, Fehn quickly and furiously stuffed her feet into them. Gripping her Orcish sword, Fehn deftly managed to scale her way down from the sentinel slots.

Coming face to face with a Whiterun guard, Fehn parried the blow from his axe and twirled around, slipping her sword through his defence, she slit his belly open and kicked him back into the mud. Dashing through the battle, she made her way over to the gate and laid to waste any guard who got in her way. Snarling in the foray of the action, Fehn skipped over the dead body of a Stormcloak soldier and caught a glance of Galmar who was locked in a furious battle with three guards. Gripping the pommel of her curved sword, Fehn smashed her shoulder into one of the guards and punched the other one hard in the belly. Seeing her, Galmar's eyes narrowed,

"What do you think you're doing?"

Fehn turned and retorted,

"We need all the help we can get! We have to disable those catapults!"

Galmar smashed the flat of his axe into the nose of a guard and snarled,

"No! You get back to your post! You NEVER abandon your post!"

Fehn shook her head and tossed her dagger at a guard who was about to land his axe in Galmar's neck, the general's eyes widened as he glared around and saw the guard. Turning to her, he hissed,

"Get in there, Stormblade, get those catapults out of the game and I'll forget your transgression!"

Fehn nodded and the general slapped a large hand on her shoulder. Nipping forward, Fehn ran for the catapults and pulled a dagger from her belt. The guards who were manning the devices saw her coming and braced themselves for her attack;

"Die!"

One of them screamed as he lunged for her. Ducking low, Fehn dodged his sword and sliced his leg off and used her back to flip him out of her road. The second was a larger man brandishing a claymore, he grunted as he swung his huge weapon at her. Fehn just missed a particularly heavy blow and managed to keep her feet on the ground, gripping her dagger in one hand and her sword in the other, she psyched him with her dagger while he stepped back she plunged her sword into his gut. Kicking him back, she turned and bent back as a long sword was slashed at her. As she stood upright, the flat of the long sword's blade hit her on the forehead and caused her to fall on her back. The guard took no time in attempting to murder her, hoisting his blade over his head, he prepared to land the killing blow. Fehn closed her eyes and was surprised when no pain came,

Opening her eyes, she saw the guard had fallen with an iron arrow sticking out of his back, Fehn eyes flicked up to her saviour and she smiled when her eyes fell on Hulda. Gripping the older woman's hand, Hulda dragged Fehn to her feet and asked in playful banter,

"And where in Oblivion is my horse, child?"

Fehn let out a sigh and replied,

"Hulda, after that, I'll buy you a thousand horses!"

Hulda chuckled and nocked an arrow,

"No need for a thousand horses, child. Just win this battle and don't damage my inn and we'll be fine!"

Fehn watched as the Nord woman took aim and her arrow sliced the rope which held the catapult back. The huge device hung limp with no thrust to push the projectile in the air, Fehn gaped and stared at Hulda – who in return, winked at the young Imperial. After a moment to recover, Fehn felt a hand rest on her shoulder, turning to see Galmar, Fehn watched as the general's eyes darted from her to Hulda,

"Ah, Hulda, glad to see you in the fray, when could you miss a fight?"

Hulda's chuckle was warm as she looked at them both fondly,

"You know me, Gal. I enjoy the work at the inn well enough, but I'm ready to retire."

Fehn had to supress a giggle at Hulda's familiar statement. Galmar was not so impressed,

"Humph. You're never too old to fight for your country, Hulda. What d'you know about the situation up ahead? Heavy?"

Hulda's face hardened and she gripped the general's arm,

"Be cautious, the Jarl accepted some Legionares and they lie in wait for you up ahead."

Fehn watched as Galmar turned to his force and commanded,

"All of you, to me! To me!"

The Stormcloaks heeded their general and flocked to him, killing the remaining Whiterun guards in their wake. Fehn's face brightened when she spotted Ralof. He looked tired and banged up, but alive at least. Catching his eye, Fehn gave him a small smile and a nod. The Nord man's face considerably relaxed and he smiled back and gave her his usual wink. When Fehn returned her attention to Galmar, he was stroking his beard in thought, turning to her, he said,

"Alright, now we're in the thick of it, Stormblade. We have to get up to Dragonsreach; once we're there we can take Balgruuf. Once we have him, his forces will have to yield to us. Once again, I'll have to ask you to do something sneaky – and dangerous. Are you up for it?"

Fehn gulped down and averted her eyes for a moment. Staring at Ralof, he was glaring at Galmar carefully. Stepping forward, he said,

"What can you want her to do? General, we have enough to storm the keep, why send Fehn on something solo again?"

Galmar eyed him darkly and said in a dangerous voice,

"Because she was exemplary earlier, and you would mind to watch your tone, captain."

Fehn stepped between them and held Ralof's forearm, placing a hand on the general's shoulder, Fehn said softly,

"Now's not the time, chaps. Galmar, what is it that you need me to do?"

Tearing his gaze from Ralof, the general looked down at her. To her surprise, he didn't shrug off her hand. Nodding to her, he said very seriously,

"I need you to take Balgruuf."


	26. Whiterun Burns

Chapter XXVI – Whiterun Burns

Fehn's chest heaved as she weaved her way in and out of the slim alleyways between the thatched houses that packed the Cloud District. Running her gloved hands along the rough walls, she ducked down low behind the house of Grey-Mane. She peeked out from behind the wall and watched as Jon Battle-Born and Eorland Grey-Mane sparred in amongst the chaos.

"Die damn you!"

Eorland smirked as he gripped the hilt of the smaller man's blade,

"Oh I will, son, but not today."

With a mighty push, the burly Nord managed to throw back the more slight man back. Fehn grimaced as Jon hit the ground with a metallic clank as his steel armour struck the stone. Turning her attention to the entrance into the Gildegreen, she darted out from her hiding spot. As she ran she panted with exertion. She had already taxed herself during the skirmish for the bridge. Suddenly with a yelp, Fehn felt a hand grip her ankle and drag her to the ground. Smashing her chin on the gravel, Fehn hissed in agony and quickly dislodged her ankle from her attacker. Scrambling to her feet, she spun around quickly. Not quickly enough as the pommel of an Imperial sword was smashed into her nose and an explosion of crimson flooded down her face.

The soldier wasted no time and took advantage of her vulnerability. Gripping her arm, he twisted it and pulled her in towards him while she stumbled dazed. Fehn gulped down blood as she was thrown over the soldier's back and promptly flung to the cold ground. Landing on her back, she spluttered and watched hazily as the soldier thrust his sword downwards. Recovering enough strength, Fehn managed to evade the blow as the soldier's sword embedded itself into the earth by her ear. While he was distracted, Fehn reeled in her leg and let it spring out in a deadly kick to the jaw. The soldier cried out as he was thrown back. Fehn rolled on her side and picked herself up. Spinning on her heel, she punched the soldier and slammed her dagger into the side of his torso killing him.

With a grimace and a quick prayer to Akatosh, Fehn wiped the blood from her mouth and nose and sprang forwards. Flames consumed most of the Plains District - Fehn was relieved to see that the Bannered Mare was safe and sound – if a little smog damaged. Turning her attention to the barriers which were stationed at the foot and heads of the stairs that lead to the Cloud District, Fehn sought to cut them down. She had barely managed to clear one barrier when she felt someone grab the back of her tunic. Gasping in shock Fehn was thrown back and held aloft by a meaty arm which was strewn along her neck. Dangling like a kitten from its mother's maw, Fehn kicked her little legs.

"You damned traitor!"

Shaking her head, Fehn pleaded,

"No! No! Not me! Vilkas!"

The huge man pressed down harder on her throat and eyed her with disdain,

"You destroyed my home! Whiterun!"

Fehn continued to shake her head,

"No, Vilkas, it's not what you think…please…"

"Brother!"

Vilkas's face was as hard as rock as he glared at her. From behind him, Fehn saw his twin brother, Farkas.

"Brother, come on. We have to defend Jorvvaskr!"

Gravity soon pulled Fehn to the ground as Vilkas allowed her to fall to her knees. Turning to Farkas, Vilkas nodded,

"Alright, brother."

Returning his attention to her, he spat coldly,

"Maybe you can pay with your hide!"

With that, he struck her hard and loped after his larger brother. Fehn lay there panting and sobbing for a long moment before picking herself up. Wiping the blood and sweat from her face, she allowed the tears to fall as she watched the city of Whiterun burn.

"What have I done…?"


	27. A Brush With Death

Chapter XXVII – A Brush With Death

"My Jarl, what is your command?"

Asked Proventus as he mopped the sweat from his brow with a ratty cloth. Irileth clucked her tongue and barged past the quavering steward,

"Balgruuf, allow me to go out there with a squad, I'll slaughter them all and paint the halls with their blood and rebuild the city with their bones!"

Balgruuf's brow twitched as he weighed his options, turning to Legate Quentin Cipius, the dark skinned man unfolded his thick arms and placed his hands on his hips.

"The Stormcloak forces I'm told are pushing our battalion back farther and farther towards the Cloud District. If the guards can't hold then we'll have to get you to safety, Jarl."

There was a loud bang as Balgruuf got to his feet – his black armour gleamed in the fire-light,

"I will not be remembered as the Jarl who let Whiterun be overrun by bloodthirsty barbarians! How would I live with myself if I turn and run like a coward? A Milk drinker? I might as well not call myself a Nord! Nay, a man! We shall defend this keep until they fall…or we fall."

"Alright, easy…one, two…three!"

With that Fehn launched herself over the chasm that extended between one of Whiterun's thatched houses to a small ledge which extended from the watchtower that stood between the Wind District and the Cloud District. Gripping the edge, Fehn grunted as her feet slid on the rough stonework. Heaving herself up and over she landed on the other side of the shallow wall with a dull thud. She lay there for a moment and regained her breath as her arms burned from fatigue. She still couldn't shake the memory of Vilkas's face as he accused her of destroying his home. Guilt clawed at her heart as she remembered his words, shaking herself, Fehn rose to her feet and drew her bow. Fitting an iron arrow, she tied some rope around the end of the shaft and fired it over to the roof of the mighty stronghold, Dragonsreach.

The arrow zipped through the air and embedded itself in the thatched roof of Dragonsreach with no trouble. Fehn squinted and lodged her bow between a pole and the corner of the watchtower's tower. Twanging the rope, Fehn checked to make sure it was tight enough to support her slight weight. When she was positive, she hooked her legs over the bristly rope and wrapped her cloth protected hands around the rope too. Shimmying from one end of the rope to the other was a long process and more than once Fehn thought she'd let go and plummet to her death as her legs and arms seized up in serious cramp. Sweat dripped from underneath her arms and big droplets rolled down her forehead and stung her blazing eyes. Trying to ignore the din that was happening below her, she willed the Whiterun guards and Legionares not to look up and notice her as she slipped over their heads.

Suddenly Fehn gasped as an arrow whizzed by her face and pierced into her arm. With a scream, she let go and dangled aimlessly by just her legs and right arm.

"Up there! Up on the roofs, aim your arrows, men!"

Fehn hissed in agony, the arrow stuck out at an odd angle and made her arm throb as pain rocketed up it. Panic gripped Fehn as she saw the Imperial soldiers line up and take aim at her, a film of tears coated her eyes as the sting from the arrow would not subside and her legs grew increasingly weak.

"Aim! Fire!"

She clamped her eyes shut as a volley of arrows nipped past her, some grazing her arms and face, she howled as one bit into her right shoulder. Still hanging onto the rope by her calves, Fehn felt her left leg give away and she hung there by only her right leg as her arms dangled uselessly and blood rushed to her head. Her vision flickered and for a moment, Fehn felt real trepidation as she realised she was about to die. A feeling of weightlessness engulfed her body and she felt the urge to just let go and fall. Loosening the muscles in her leg, Fehn closed her eyes and felt a tear slip down her cheek and mingle with the desperate sweat that clung to her skin. Falling from the rope, Fehn's hair whipped around her face like a tumbleweed of ebony. The soldiers whooped and cheered as she plunged down into the city below. There was a crash as she barrelled through the roof of one of the houses and landed heavily on the floor. There was a scream as a frightened mother held her children close.

"By the gods!"

Bruised and near death, Fehn spluttered and blood poured from her mouth. Gripping her arm, she threw her other hand out to the people in the house; one of them – a young woman – approached the battered girl,

"Oh, my…Arcadia, come here!"

There was silence from the women and the children all whimpered at the bloody sight. Fehn cracked her eye open and saw an old Imperial woman approach her, her skin was weathered but soft, lines caked almost every inch of her small and delicate face. Fehn smiled weakly as the Imperial woman reminded her of home.

"What is it, Ysolda? A Legionare?"

The young woman shook her pretty head and gently lifted Fehn's head and rested it on her lap as Arcadia kneeled beside Fehn's motionless body,

"I don't think so…Hello? Can you hear me?"

Fehn grunted groggily and grimaced as blood poured from both her arms. Ysolda sucked in and turned away as Fehn squirmed,

"Fallen right through the roof eh?"

Ysolda nodded at Arcadia and glanced up at the gaping hole which Fehn had left,

"Yes, seems to have been from quite high up too…Arcadia, get her a potion – see if you can dull the pain for her."

The old woman nodded and got up as her old knees cracked and popped. Fehn swallowed and squeezed her eyes shut – the pain was throbbing now. Ysolda gasped as the girl's eyes began to roll into the back of her head and her legs began to shake,

"Hurry, Arcadia!"

Suddenly a stocky woman who was cradling her son's head against her breast piped up,

"No! Don't save that wrong un'! It's obvious she ain't one of us…Might as well shiv her and keep it quiet seeing as how she ain't no Nord!"

Ysolda's face was horrified.

"That's sick, Brea…in front of your own children as well."

The plump Nord's chest swelled,

"My boys will know what's right and what's wrong. It's you sympathisers what are dragging Skyrim down!"

Shaking her head, Ysolda gently placed Fehn's head on the floor and stood up – her eyes like flint.

"And what in Oblivion do you mean by that?"

Dislodging herself from her son, Brea waddled forward and pointed an accusing finger at Ysolda,

"I've seen you gallivanting out of the gate to pat those big feline abominations at the stables!"

Ysolda retorted sharply,

"To trade only!"

Brea snorted and exclaimed acidly,

"To scratch their filthy bellies you mean! Those grimy things'll eat you up and spit you out! Trading with them's no use! And you think you'll by buying the Bannered Mare off of Hulda, ha! That'll be the day. Hulda's a true Nord and true Nord's don't have sawdust where their brains should be!"

Taking a step forward, Ysolda pointed a finger at Brea and hissed,

"Well you must be speaking for yourself, Brea, because I can see sawdust come out your ears and hit the floor every time you breathe out!"

"Hulda…"

There was silence as Ysolda and Brea glared at one another like a pair of testy alley cats. One of Brea's boys ran around the quarrelling women and kneeled beside Fehn.

"Mama, she just spoke, she just asked for…"

Brea silenced him,

"Hulda, I know, Joald. Come away from that dog now."

Ysolda's green eyes were blazing as she looked Brea up and down. The silence was broken as Arcadia came bustling through holding a red concoction in her gnarled hands. Twisting her lips into a knotted smile, the old woman regarded Brea,

"Alright, Brea, settle down – for I'll remind you that you and your boys sought refuge at my home. An Imperial's home, so show some respect. Anyway, Ysolda, tip that young lady's head back so I can give her the draught."

_We drink to our youth for the days come and gone…For the age of aggression is just about done._

"_What?"_

_Mumbled Fehn in the hushed darkness of her mind. Turning her head, her dark gaze fell on General Tullius. The Imperial man was tall and dark, his head peppered with grey hair – his severe regard stern._

"_What are you doing here Fehn?"_

_Fehn frowned and said in an undertone,_

"_I could ask you the same thing, general."_

_With a sigh, the general averted his gaze and eyed her with an even stricter glare,_

"_That mouth of yours'll get you into trouble, Anonamy. Just like it did your father."_

_Fehn's spine went rigid at that. Staring at the general, she snarled quietly,_

"_Shut up."_

_The general's mouth curved into a wicked smile and suddenly his dark skin began to bubble and melt off his skull. Fehn backed away horrified as a formless entity burst out of the general's mutilated body._

"_You made a contract! You must fulfil the oath writ in blood!"_

_Shaking her head, Fehn screamed as black tendrils of smoke wrapped themselves around her wrists and ankles. Her breath caught when one silkily slipped around her throat and burned her neck._

"_I shall spare you this one time on account of your contract – do not fail me!"_

_Fehn waved her arms and spluttered,_

"_W-who are you? What is this?"_

_The nameless monstrosity calmed for a moment, its smoggy body was silent and the maelstrom was peaceful for a brief second as it shifted and re-emerged behind her head. Closing her eyes, Fehn felt death whisper its ululations of darkness and evil,_

"_I have no name. You do well to listen and complete my will."_


	28. A Desperate Plan

Chapter XXVIII - A Desperate Plan

Uttering a curse and gripping her head, Fehn stirred and looked around, her vision bleary.

"Oh, you're finally awake."

Turning, Fehn stared at the face of a young Nord woman. With big bright green eyes, a long straight nose and full lips, Ysolda smiled at Fehn.

"You had us very worried."

"Huh?"

Pointing up to the lofty ceiling, the girl uttered,

"You fell through Arcadia's roof. You're lucky to be alive."

A pang of guilt lanced Fehn's stomach as she eyed the gaping hole. Turning her attention to the old woman who had come up and knelt next to Ysolda, Fehn breathed,

"Oh…please, I can pay for that…I…"

The hag waved a gnarled hand, silencing her. With a bark of wheezy laughter, Arcadia stipulated happily,

"Yes a few coins will be in order. However, I so rarely see young bell's from the Homeland. I may be inclined to let you off."

Fehn smiled softly and heaved herself up. Ysolda reclined a little as the Imperial's dark and brooding gaze bored into her.

"I'm in your debt for saving my…life."

Ysolda smiled and laughed a little shakily,

"Well no, Arcadia just gave you a draught of healing potion…to be honest…we don't really know how you survived – you were pretty banged up. Your wounds…they just…"

Fehn jumped as the fat Nord woman, Brea, stamped up towards her pointing one of her stubby fingers at the Imperial, she fumed,

"You're one of them Mages from the Mages Guild in that damn Cyrodiil aren't you!"

Fehn's brow knotted and she shook her head. The fat woman continued her tirade,

"Well if you're not a mage – how'd you explain your wounds healin' up so fast, hmm? Look, look at the markings on her neck, that's not natural that is. On your wrists an' all! You must be a devil!"

"Brea!"

Ysolda watched as the young Imperial's gaze drifted down to her wrists. Fehn tentatively brushed her fingers along the purplish and reddish marks that decorated her wrists. With a gasp, Ysolda observed Fehn frantically pull at the bottoms of her breeches and inspect the same reddish marks that wound their way around her ankles. Confused, Fehn looked up at Ysolda as the Nord girl shrugged her shoulders and said sympathetically,

"Maybe it was divine intervention…Maybe Talos?"

Brea sucked in and sniffed vehemently,

"Or Sithis."

With that Arcadia got to her feet and fixed Brea with a piercing glare. The Nord would not be swayed and said with conviction,

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Arcadia! How d'you explain this freak's miraculous recovery without there being some evil at work here? I mean, look at her; she's got dark bewitching eyes and scars on her face – the little wretch just screams trouble. She's not right, not right even for an Imperial!"

Arcadia tutted and waved her hands silencing Brea's voice.

"This is not the time, Brea! Just be still your mouth and sit down!"

Ysolda's hands were covering her mouth as she watched Brea stand down from Arcadia. With a puffed up chest and a spoiled lip, Brea held one of her smaller boys close and pressed him up against her breast – muffling his stilted sobbing.

"This'll come back on us – you mark my words, sympathisers."

Arcadia ignored her and turned to Fehn,

"An army girl – I'd recognise a Legionare's arm anywhere."

Fehn bowed her head and got to her feet. Staring at the Imperial woman, Fehn emitted darkly,

"Ex-Legionare, gave it up. I'm just a tourist passing through and I got caught up in the fight."

Her eyes bright, Arcadia said smoothly,

"Alright, dear, but I won't be sheltering any enemies of Whiterun in this house – tell me who you are."

Fehn ground her teeth and threw her eyes to the hole in the ceiling. Red smoke splashed the inky blue sky – the stars barely managing to twinkle through the smog. Releasing a breath, Fehn addressed Arcadia,

"I'd rather not say."

There was a silence as Arcadia and Fehn eyed each other carefully. Ysolda moved around to stand by Arcadia and the old Imperial reached for her dagger. Fehn was quicker however, brandishing her short-sword; the young Imperial's blade was at Ysolda's exposed throat in a second. The Nord whimpered and shook as Fehn glared at Arcadia and whispered pleadingly,

"Please, just it go."

Relenting, the old potion master sheathed her dagger. Fehn nodded and released Ysolda. Curtly, the Imperial turned her back on them, plucking a strip of linen from the counter Fehn wrapped it around her neck before pulling the sleeves down on her black cuirass. With a sigh, she turned back to look at Arcadia and Ysolda,

"Thank you for everything."

Together, Arcadia and Ysolda watched as Fehn slipped out of the house and back out into the throng of the battle.

"Alright, men! And, HEAVE! Come on, put your damn backs into it! Ralof! Come here!"

Panting from fatigue, Ralof ran to Galmar. Saluting the general, he rasped,

"Yes, general?"

Galmar's face was contorted and grumpy looking. Gripping his war axe, he asked Ralof quietly,

"Have there been any reports on the Unblooded?"

A flash of worry leapt into the Nord's features and for a moment Galmar thought he would not speak. Placing a large gloved hand on his neck, Ralof stood upright and regained his breath,

"N-no, general…nothing…Nothing so far..."

Emitting a low growl in the back of his throat, Galmar stroked his blood-stained beard absently. Turning his face from the taxed Ralof, the general peered over the battle so far; night had descended on Whiterun and the bloodshed had not let up. The Stormcloak forces had managed to bludgeon and push the Whiterun guards and Legion alike back. The cost of this, however, was the enormous strain this was putting on their numbers, no more than two hundred Stormcloaks remained Galmar deduced and they still had to storm Dragonsreach – which was no doubt guarded to the teeth. He watched calculatingly as the men thrust a battering ram into the barriers surrounding Dragonsreach. Several Whiterun guards were perched above on the sentinel slots above and were pouring boiling hot tar on the Stormcloaks. On top of that, Imperial archers were picking off a fair number of them rapidly.

"We have to end this soon – or we'll lose Whiterun."

Galmar announced flatly. Ralof had regained his breath now. Standing upright, the Nord replied solemnly,

"You have only to command us, general. What do you want us to do?"

Racking his brain for a strategy, Galmar's brow furrowed. Eyeing the tall roof of Dragonsreach and the smoke which surrounded the stronghold, Galmar's throat contracted as the noise from the battling forces deafened him. Returning his hard gaze to Ralof's anxious face, the general's grey eyes widened when he noticed Fehn marching up the shallow slope to join them.

"By Shor!"

Barging past Ralof, his eyes blazing, Galmar stalked up to Fehn and bellowed,

"Where the devil have you been!"

Stopping before the enraged general, Fehn bowed her head and answered him in quick muted tones,

"The bastards shot me down before I could infiltrate the stronghold…I only came to a while ago and I've been spending the majority of my time looking for you."

Galmar's expression was suspicious. Taking another step closer to her he looked at her very closely.

"You say you were shot down? Yet, you look exceptionally unharmed. Tell me, Dragonborn; is miracles one of your powers now? Because if so, you had better send one our way for we're faltering in taking Dragonsreach at the moment."

Fehn's mouth was set. How could she tell him that she'd been saved by a seemingly nameless entity which had healed her of all her wounds and had instead inflicted strange burn-like marks on her throat and wrists? Gazing up at him helplessly, she simply shrugged – her eyes downcast and uttered defeated,

"I don't know how I survived. Luck I guess."

Galmar unleashed a bark of laughter. The sound was quite frightening when paired with the scenes of death and gore which raged around him and Fehn found she was shrinking back from the general's cold mirth.

"You hear that, Ralof! 'Luck' she says! Ha-ha, what a fool you are, Unblooded."

With that the general turned his back on her and ordered his men to forget engaging with the guards on the streets and instead focus on breeching the barriers and getting into Dragonsreach. Ralof approached the Imperial – concern etched into his face,

"Hey, are you alright? We hadn't heard news of you since Galmar sent you on that scoundrel's folly of a mission."

Gazing at him with her tired eyes, Fehn felt her chest swell with anger at Galmar.

"I'm fine…at least I think I am. We need to take Whiterun, but I don't think we can, Ralof."

The Nord's brow puckered at that,

"Why's that?"

He asked simply as the Imperial's dark eyes raked the area. He watched as she eyed the stronghold of Dragonsreach that was illuminated by the orange fire-light of the many fires that ravaged the city of Whiterun. She shrugged her shoulders again and remarked,

"We can't simply barge our way in. It's much too fortified. We need something more subtle – there can't be that large a force inside surely?"

Ralof's face was caked in blood and grime. His sandy blond hair was matted and his usually cheerful blue eyes were strained and tired. Fehn watched him pleadingly as his thick shoulders slumped and he shook his head,

"I don't know, friend. All I know is that there's lots of Legionares in there. They're led by one of their best, a man named Quentin Cipius. Most of the Whiterun guards have been dealt with. All you'll find in that keep are battle-hardened soldiers not mere guards who battle with patrons during drunken brawls."

Fehn's face was hard as she thought for a moment. Coming to a decision, she patted Ralof's hard shoulder and flashed a wolfish grin at him.

"Leave it with me,"

She smirked assertively and brushed past him.

"General! General, I must speak with you!"

Galmar Stone-Fist's face was bland as she drew near him.

"What is it, useless?"

Fehn ignored his insult and kept her eyes steadfast on him and pronounced confidently and clearly,

"I need you to permit me to take a small force down under the water bridge."

The general's expression was sceptical, but she continued none-the-less.

"If we can manage to steal away under the bridge – we'll come out at the other side. Scale the steps and kill the guards and Legionares at the top, dismantle the barriers and then we can storm the keep and take Balgruuf."

Galmar folded his arms as he contemplated her idea. It was thin – very thin – but under the circumstances what choice did he have. Nodding his head, he bore down on the Imperial,

"Alright, I'll assign you twelve men – no – don't be sour, that's all I can spare. Just be mindful, Imperial, any of those boys die – be it on your head."


	29. The Bonds Have Broken

Chapter XXIX – The Bonds Have Broken

Like a wild sabre cat, Irileth prowled along the balcony of the watch tower of Dragonsreach. Snarling down at the battling forces below, her blood red eyes hungered as she wished to break the flesh of Whiterun's enemies.

"Housecarl,"

Turning on her heel, the Dunmer flashed a feral glance at the Legionare, who had addressed her,

"Yes, what is it?"

She asked rather snappishly. The soldier scoffed and rolled his eyes at her pert tone, looking down his nose at her he informed the small elf,

"The Stormcloak forces are weakening our defence – Legate Cipius thinks it's maybe time for you and your Jarl to evacuate."

Irileth's face contorted into a mask of ugly anger as she barged past the soldier and flung open the large double doors which led into Dragonsreach's ready room. At the sound of the doors crashing against the walls the soldiers within all drew their swords expecting a legion of Stormcloaks. Upon seeing the Dunmer Houscarl, they all breathed a sigh of relief and sheathed their weapons. Irileth scanned the room and marched up to Legate Quentin Cipius,

"I have just been informed, Legate, that you are a coward!"

The dark skinned man folded his beefy arms and stared down coldly at the red-headed Dunmer. Eyeing her aloofly, he responded in a smooth and appeasing voice,

"I have absolutely no idea what you mean. If you're referring to my suggestion that the Jarl and his party detach themselves from the city before the walls are breached then I am sorry to inform you that you've confused cowardice with strategy – your Jarl's no good to us dead."

Irileth fumed up at the Imperial and retorted rudely,

"But to abandon Whiterun! You seriously think we'd abandon our homes!"

Shrugging his wide shoulders, Legate Cipius countered unkindly,

"Who said anything about "we"? Remember, Housecarl, all the Stormcloaks need is Balgruuf – you mean nothing to them. You are free to stay and fight. My only concern is keeping the Jarl safe – which, by the way, is supposed to be your job and concern."

Some of the soldiers sniggered at Irileth as she gaped up at the Legate. Her eyes were positively blazing as she glared at Cipius and in a fluid movement – she turned and darted down the stairs to the great hall of Dragonsreach. Turning back to the map at hand, the Legate beckoned one of his men to come forward,

"Yes, Legate?"

Asked the young Legionare, Quentin Cipius did not mince words with his own soldiers,

"I think it's time we evacuated the Jarl and his Steward from the Hold. Get ready to escort them through the dungeons – we'll have a boat ready to take them downriver to Falkreath and from there – Solitude."

The man nodded and saluted the Legate before rushing off to carry out his orders. Another soldier prompted the Legate quietly,

"And us, Legate? What shall we do?"

Flicking his dark gaze up, the Legate stated flatly and grimly,

"Us? Well, we fight, don't we?"

The dungeon was deathly quiet as Fehn and her squad of twelve Stormcloaks sneaked quietly through the straw-covered corridors. They had managed to infiltrate the stronghold of Dragonsreach at long last and Fehn was glad that she had managed to keep her men alive. They had run into some danger after slipping up from under the water bridge with the Legionares and guards waiting for them at the other side – the Stormcloaks had the element of surprise on their side however and had managed to overwhelm them. Impressed with her tenacity, Galmar ordered her to dismantle the barriers surrounding the stronghold. Upon breaking down the wooden structures, looking out over the fighting, Galmar stipulated that Fehn and her party should infiltrate Dragonsreach clandestine while he and Ralof's units took on the remaining guards on Whiterun's streets and secured the main entrance to Dragonsreach. They had the stronghold completely surrounded.

Fehn's stomach was in knots as she led her men through the lofty dungeons. The high ceilings meant their steps no matter how softly they tread reverberated off the walls causing them to constantly be on edge. Grasping the blade of her sword – an old habit to silence it – Fehn whispered to the men,

"Alright, we're approaching the passageway that leads to the main hall now. Be on your guard and don't lose form. Kill any Imperial soldiers you see and keep on your toes."

The platoon of rugged faces nodded at her and moved on quietly at her behest. Fehn was gladdened that after this fight most of the soldiers had now come to respect her lead and at least stop glaring at her with disdain. Suddenly there was a loud crash as the wooden door blew open and an overabundance of Imperial soldiers burst into the dungeons. Quick as a fox, Fehn hissed to her men,

"Hurry! Take cover!"

With that most of the men ducked behind barrels and hugged the surrounding walls. Fehn took cover in a nearby haystack and watched intently as the soldiers rallied and began to talk amongst themselves – unaware they were chickens in a wolf's den,

"Alright, our orders are to take the Jarl to the river. Slip out of the city and get him upriver as soon as possible before the rebel filth get into the citadel."

Blinking away the hay that was poking her in the eyes, Fehn made eye-contact with one of her men. Nodding to the man, she held up her hand and ran a finger along her throat. Nodding back at her – he turned to a fellow Stormcloak who'd taken cover with him and made the same gesture. The Imperial soldiers were still muttering amongst themselves when Fehn burst forth from the hay with a ferocious war-cry and brought her orcish sword down on the heads of the unsuspecting Imperial force. As Fehn revealed herself, her fellow Stormcloaks followed suit and all barrelled out from their hiding spots, taking down the Imperial soldiers with bloody and barbaric ferocity. Fehn parried a blow from one of the soldiers and ducked as he desperately swung at her. She severed his leg easily and kicked his useless one-legged torso to the dirty floor and quickly ended his life in an explosion of crimson.

Soon the dungeon was littered with the blood carcases of Imperial men. Fehn felt a familiar pang of pity and betrayal. She was so used to the feeling of guilt that she merely shrugged it off and beckoned the Stormcloaks to follow her through the dungeon and into the door which lead into the main body of Dragonsreach.

The lines on Balgruuf's forehead were deeply set as he watched the fire blaze in the middle of his beautifully decorated hall of his home, Dragonsreach. The flames danced in his armour and eyes as he sat upon the throne which he had inherited from his father when he was only a young lad of eighteen. He'd had a great many visions for Whiterun then, he'd loved and cherished his land and his people and he in turn was beloved. Leaning his grizzled head on his hand, he pondered why it had come to this, he knew that his status as Jarl was true, he hated the Thalmor as much as the next Nord – probably more – but he couldn't allow order to be overthrown for his own emotions. The majority had always come first with Balgruuf and he would do anything to ensure peace for his people and his Hold. However, as the battle raged just outside his front door, he felt that this night, he had failed them both – Whiterun and her people. This was indeed a dark night for him, the darkest of his life as Jarl and as a man.

The shouting and sounds of metal against metal did not disturb Balgruuf from his melancholy. Staring up blandly from his thoughts which had been as agitated as the fire which spewed before him, he glared down at the Stormcloak force which now intruded on his house. Led by a woman he'd cast out of his Hold, Fehn's face was splattered with blood and gore, the linen around her neck loose – revealing her macabre scars. Ordering her men to only restrain the Imperial soldiers, she slowly walked up to Balgruuf's throne. The Jarl's face did not betray the feelings of anger and betrayal as he looked upon the Imperial's face. Stopping before him, Fehn rasped in a low voice,

"Balgruuf…It's over, the city…it's ours. Yield."

Casting his gaze down, the Jarl released a small chuckle.

"Yes, it would seem so, but you have to take me, is that not so?"

Fehn nodded and responded gently,

"Yes, we take you and an immediate cease-fire will commence and the rebuilding and garrisoning can begin, all you need do is yield to us and you will be banished."

Balgruuf was too wily a man to be sucked in,

"That simple, eh?"

Was all he said as Fehn stood before him just like she had done not but a month ago. Only now, she was undisputedly an enemy. Never taking her eyes off the Jarl, Fehn urged Balgruuf pleadingly,

"Please, just…"

She faltered before him and leaned forward a little,

"Just come quietly. I'm sure Ulfric will be fair with you…"

She was cut off as Balgruuf unleashed a roar of laughter and slammed his hand down on the arm of his throne and bellowed,

"Fair? You think Ulfric will be fair with me? Oh, you silly girl. You silly, silly girl."

Fehn eyed him suspiciously as his laughter dulled and ebbed away from him – like metal cooling – all that was left was a cold spite which ripped from the Jarl's face as he spat at her,

"Foolish girl, there's not a fair bone in that bastard's body. Let me guess, no one's told you about the Markarth Incident? I tell you, it's not unlike the one we're in now – you and I. Only a matter of time until this becomes known to history as the 'Whiterun Incident'."

Seeing Fehn's puzzled expression the Jarl chuckled throatily and gleamed up at her,

"Ah, but you are a silly girl who is easily lead astray aren't you? I don't blame you for taking a side – albeit the wrong one. You were an ally to Whiterun, but that diplomacy granted to you is now forsaken, you are nothing more than a discarded Imperial, a rebel and a mutineer. Oh yes, I've heard of you, Fehn. Legate Cipius filled in the blanks for me while you gallivanted off to join Ulfric and his tainted cause – yes, you and him are well suited, never a more devilish pair. You deserve each other."

Fehn was shaking by the time the Jarl had finished his monologue. She was so engrossed in the Nord's face that she had not even realised that Irileth and Legate Cipius had joined them in the main hall. Turning her attention to the Dunmer, she commented icily,

"And I suppose you were happy to have any slander of me made public?"

The Dunmer's thin lips stretched to reveal her pointed fangs as she gloated,

"Why yes, I think after this – even those 'true Nords' that support Ulfric will find your support abhorrent. Even with this victory, _you'll_ find no allies in Whiterun."

Fehn's eyes narrowed and she hissed through clenched teeth,

"Attack me then, I'd so enjoy ripping that smug look off your ugly face, grey-skin."

The elf was about to comply when Legate Quentin Cipius stopped her. Gripping the elf's shoulder, he pulled her back and moved forward himself. Keeping his eyes fixed on Fehn, his gauntlet hovered over the pommel of his great sword. As the large Legate moved closer to Fehn, she stepped back and gave herself space to manoeuvre, Cipius was known throughout the Legion as a talented swordsman. Fehn wasn't taking any chances. As he got closer, he said in a mulled tone,

"Fehnrah Urbana Oculatos Anonamy, I'd recognize a name like that anywhere in and out of Cyrodiil."

Fehn felt her cheeks burn as the Legate stated her full name. She had not been called Fehnrah since her father and brother had passed. Gripping her sword, she planted her feet far apart and gritted her teeth,

"Legate, stand down. There need be no more bloodshed should you give up."

Cipius chuckled and drew his great sword and retorted,

"I think we both know that the time for talk is over. Besides, I reckon that if I cut the head from the operation,"

His gaze drifted to the Stormcloak force that all had an Imperial soldier at sword-point,

"..The body will fall."

With that the Legate swung a deadly blow at the smaller Imperial. Fehn just managed to duck out of the way and roll around the Legate. He grunted – she was nimble, more so than himself – taking his bulkiness into account, Fehn kicked at his back. He fell forward and stumbled, she was trying to avoid killing him, but an unexpected burst of speed escaped the big Imperial man and he swiftly smashed his armoured elbow into Fehn's nose and mouth.

With a cry, the Imperial fell to the floor beside the fire. Cipius turned quickly and glared down at her. Her vision flickered and Fehn felt blood trickle down her mouth and chin. She watched as the Legate moved towards her – ready to deal out death to her. It was an underhanded move, grabbing the boiling hot embers from the fire; Fehn threw the white-hot stones into the Legate's face – burning her own hand in the process. It had the desired effect as the Legate screamed furiously and turned away and rubbed his scorched eyes.

Getting to her feet, Fehn held her sword at the Legate's neck and growled,

"Yield."

Quentin was still for a moment. The Stormcloaks and Imperials all watched gripped as they all thought the Legate would yield. Suddenly with a furious push, the Legate thrust his blade up against Fehn's and threw the slight girl back. She stumbled and tried to keep a hold of her sword, falling back; she gurgled as Cipius gripped the linen around her neck and pulled her in towards him. Spluttering for a moment, she sliced through the flimsy material and it fell away from her throat. As he had a grip of the linen – the moment it was cut, Quentin was thrown back slightly. Taking his moment of vulnerability in stride, Fehn lunged forward and shanked the Legate brutally under his left arm. With a sickening crunch, the Imperial Legate eyed her in disbelief. Falling to his knees he was still nearly as tall as Fehn, holding his gaze, Fehn uttered sadly,

"I'm so sorry."

Just then he fell sideways into the fire – his dark eyes glassy and unseeing. They all watched the Legate burn – Fehn's sword still buried in his body. Suddenly the silence was broken as Balgruuf got to his feet – his hands in the air.

"Alright,"

He began sullenly,

"I submit, please…no more bloodshed. I give up – victory is yours."

The Stormcloaks all cheered happily and sent a few men to spread the word. As they celebrated their victory, Fehn eyed Balgruuf as he was lead out of his own keep and felt a deep resounding feeling of pure shame and found no happiness in the murder of a great soldier like Legate Cipius and felt a single tear slip down her cheek.


	30. Misbegotten Gains

Chapter XXX – Misbegotten Gains

Fehn had been quiet and ill-tempered in the days that followed the Taking of Whiterun as it had become known to the people of Skyrim. Couriers from far and near had spread the word that the legendary Dovahkiin had chosen a side. There were rumours and whispers hissed in the darkened corners of seedy taverns about Fehn and her person. Some claimed her to be a dark beauty from the Capitol while others deemed her a bloodthirsty succubus who had enchanted the dull Nords into doing her bidding and striking good, clear-minded men down. She brushed these hurtful depictions of herself off and continued to keep her head down and simply stay out of the public eye. In the days since the Stormcloaks had bested the Empire for Whiterun, Fehn had scarcely left the Bannered Mare.

"You'll need to face them at some point, Fehn."

Hulda scolded quietly one evening. Fehn was sitting at the bar – her fingers clasped around a cold tankard of mead. Running a hand down her peaky face, Fehn turned her tired visage to Hulda and whispered pathetically,

"I'm just so tired, Hulda. I don't think I can do this anymore."

A frown puckered the older woman's brow and she placed her broom up against the wall and took a seat next to Fehn. Placing a comforting arm around the young Imperial's shoulders, Hulda whispered encouragingly,

"Now, listen to me; Ulfric will be here on the morrow – he will want to see his best and brightest just that; bright and best, now I know it's hard, Fehn – war is, but you have to stay strong. It does no good to hide away and run from one's destiny."

There was real affection in the Nord's voice as she squeezed Fehn's shoulder and smiled warmly at the girl – but still Fehn could not even muster a smirk for Hulda. Blinking slowly, Fehn licked her lips and shrugged her shoulders. They seemed so heavy since she had come to Skyrim; ever since she'd woken up in that cart on her way to Helgen she had felt the weight of a whole country's strife on her shoulders. She almost wished that she'd been beheaded in Helgen – just so she could erase the constant feeling of guilt that seemed to cling to her very flesh. She shuddered every time she remembered a man she'd killed or an innocent she'd threatened. Her body did not even seem like her own anymore. Before it had been brown and smooth, now scars vandalised the supple flesh and made her feel ugly and mutilated.

The sunburst scar on her shoulder splashed its way down her arm, the scar from the arrow she got in the hip when she and Vilkas had been attacked in the grove was dulling but still fresh, and now she had these weird rope-burn-like scars running along her wrists and ankles, not to mention the one that looped around her neck like a hangman's noose. They hadn't even dulled since the battle and Fehn feared she would be stuck with the freakish scars forever. She knew people were whispering about the strange marks, some went as far as to say that she'd been hanged and racked, others made more dark assumptions. Every time she closed her eyes she could hear the disembodied voice sigh and hiss for her to fulfil her contract, when she tried to turn over and get some sleep the marks would burn and the skin around her neck would tighten – almost as if she was being strangled by an invisible rope. With no sleep and an extremely heavy heart, Fehn was definitely not at her best.

With a sigh Hulda left the troubled girl to her thoughts and resumed cleaning up the bar. Fehn returned to her mead and took a long draught of the cold beverage. She was about to get up and go to bed when the doors of the Bannered Mare swung open, instinctively Fehn got to her feet in a flash and drew her dagger. Standing in the doorway stood Vilkas and Farkas – the twin brothers who were members of the Companions.

"Two ales, Hulda."

Vilkas barked shortly. Nodding, she leaned her broom up against the wall again and flicked her gaze over the two men and then at Fehn. Seeing Fehn's expression, Hulda made her way over to the bar, pointing a finger at the twins she threatened,

"Alright, boys, but there'll be no brawling in my pub tonight – got it? Whiterun's seen enough fighting for one solstice."

The two brothers nodded and Fehn shirked a little when she saw Vilkas give her a positively glacier stare. Excusing herself from the bar, Fehn nodded to Hulda and the older woman nodded back reassuringly. Suddenly with a yelp, Fehn turned sharply as Vilkas gripped her scarred wrist as she moved away from the bar. Fehn was heartened to hear Hulda whip out her dagger in a flash but she was so fixated on Vilkas' angry face to even notice,

"Still strutting around this place bold as brass, eh? Well seen that you Imperials know which side your bread's buttered on – devils the lot of you."

Turning her wrist upwards he slipped her sleeve up towards her elbow roughly causing the girl to grimace,

"Marks to go an' all."

He stated simply and let her arm flop back. With that the big man turned his shoulder away from the girl. Fehn let out a shallow breath, blinking down at her wrists; she turned her sad eyes to Vilkas' shoulder. Hulda and Farkas watched curiously as the girl slowly and silently placed a little hand on Vilkas' large huffing shoulder. To their surprise the big Nord didn't shy away from Fehn's touch. Gripping gently, Fehn whispered,

"I'm so sorry, Vilkas…but…after everything we went through to get to High Hrothgar – I'd considered us something akin to friends. I never got to say thank you for everything you did for me, and for escorting me,"

Softly Fehn's hand brushed off Vilkas' shoulder and she bowed silently to his turned back. Her hair silently swished along and off her slim shoulders and she clutched the neck of her tunic where it fell away to reveal her delicate flesh. Calmly Vilkas turned and gazed down at her. Turning her own gaze up, Vilkas felt his anger melt away as he met her stare. Her eyes were large and bulbous, shimmering with tears; she offered herself as one warrior to another and pleaded silently for his forgiveness.

The room was as soundless as a tomb. Farkas moved forward awkwardly but was stopped by his brother's hand as he held it up. Hulda sheathed her dagger quietly and continued to watch the strange interaction between Fehn and Vilkas.

She held his look for a long while. Blinking again, Fehn uttered as he stared down at her completely dumbfounded from her loss of fight,

"I'm lost"

Was all she said. There was a sudden bang as Vilkas slammed his gauntlet down on the bar. Fehn didn't move. Gritting his teeth, Vilkas moved away from her, backing away like a startled dog, he pointed a finger at her and growled,

"You're forgiven."

Then grudgingly he slammed his hip into the doors of the Bannered Mare and stomped out into Whiterun. Farkas turned an apologetic glimpse to Hulda and took off after his twin. Only when they had both left did Hulda let out a sigh of relief and move closer to Fehn,

"That's a dangerous game to be playing, Fehn! What've he'd have taken that offer!"

Fehn stood upright and stared absently after Vilkas and said over her shoulder,

"I knew he wouldn't – he's a good person."

Hulda scoffed and placed her hand on her hips,

"And you'd have let him live?"

She demanded, Fehn turned to her friend and smiled weakly before replying darkly,

"Who knows – probably not? I'm not a good person maybe?"

She averted her gaze as Hulda searched the young girl's face and Fehn felt the bonds of death coil and contract tighter around her throat.


	31. Sick as a Dog

Chapter XXXI – Sick as a Dog

Dawn broke with the roar of trumpets blasting from the eastern road. Sentinels howled over the hills overlooking the tundra of Whiterun Hold that their Jarl was approaching. There was a great commotion as the Stormcloak forces in the city were given the news and runners were dispatched to find the prominent figures in the regiment.

Fehn had barely cracked open a bleary eye when the doors of her room overlooking the bar of the Bannered Mare were thrust open. Jumping from fright, Fehn gripped her dagger which she had under her pillow and made to defend herself. Her surprise deflated when she saw the Stormcloak livery. Releasing her breath, she eyed the young man, who panted on the threshold of her room,

"Ma'am…The Jarl's approaching the city. Sentinels say…they say he'll be here by noon."

Nodding, Fehn yawned and stretched and bobbed her head for him to leave. Getting up from her bed was difficult. During the night Fehn had been plagued by more nightmares. She rubbed her eyes hard and enjoyed sating the itchiness which surrounded the now purplish flesh around her dark eyes. Moving over to her mirror – Fehn was a little shocked.

Her brown-black hair was long and dishevelled and hung messily down her shoulders and stuck out. Bags encircled her eyes, joining them was a pair of gaunt cheeks. Fehn gasped a little when she noticed that her complexion was waxy, sickly and grey unlike normally. Again she rubbed her face and tried to style her long, thick hair into an agreeable fashion. Stooping down the stairs into the bar Fehn found Saadia sweeping the floor rather skittishly. The Redguard woman started when she saw Fehn. The Imperial nodded to Saadia and shirked as the dark-skinned woman eyed her suspiciously,

"Are you okay? I think you might be sick."

She stipulated quietly as she leaned on her broom. Fehn smiled and tried to summon some vigour into her bleak eyes,

"Uh, yes…just been feeling under the weather is all."

The Redguard nodded again and returned to her tidying. There was a pause as Fehn watched her for moment and then scanned the rest of the bar – Hulda was nowhere to be seen,

"Saadia, do you know where Hulda is?"

With a sigh, Saadia stopped sweeping and replied snappishly,

"She's out – I think she's gone to see the Jarl from Windhelm give Greymane the throne. Shouldn't you already be out there? I sent the runner up to your room."

Without a word, Fehn stalked off and out into the city – leaving Saadia behind staring after her. The city of Whiterun was bustling and busy. Fehn weaved her way through the throng of people pulling her hood up and over her head to hide her pale face. She had donned a simple outfit of a white tunic with black lacing at the throat – with a linen bond to hide her neck, brown breeches, a pair of thick leather boots, a pair of fingerless gauntlets which extended up to her elbow and a heavy black cloak. Slipping through the alleyways, Fehn peeked out from behind the wall at the procession which was making its way through the Plains District. Immediately Fehn spotted Ulfric at its head. The black and grey feathers at his shoulders shifted in the breeze, the reigns for his horse were woven tightly around his strong hands. Fehn noted that a lot of the city's inhabitants who lined the streets glared at the Jarl who had brought so much strife to their doors – and Fehn found herself mirroring their glares.

Equipping Riktigt Fehn nocked an arrow and aimed at Ulfric. For a tense moment, Fehn felt herself ready to let loose the arrow when suddenly the voice of an elderly man made her jump,

"Wandering off the beaten path, Imperial?"

Turning to glare at the speaker, Fehn was surprised to see the Harbinger of the Companions, Kodlak Whitemane. The grizzled Nord eyed her calmly with his good eye and uttered plaintively,

"I never had you down as a petty, cowardly assassin, girl – and Vilkas spoke so highly of you."

Fehn was at a loss for words. She had no idea what she was doing. Staring down at Riktigt, she flicked her confused gaze back to Kodlak and stuttered,

"I-I don't know what came over me, sir…I swear."

Strangely the old man didn't seem to doubt her. Instead, he simply and slowly took the bow from the girl's hands, gripping her wrist, he lead her quietly through the city and back to the mead hall of Jorvaskrr.


	32. The Harbinger

Chapter XXXII – The Harbinger

Shivering and chattering her teeth, Fehn was gently drawn through the Wind District and up the stone steps which fed into the courtyard of Jorvaskrr. Kodlak kept his face pensive but his eyes darted around as he drew the young Imperial away from the impending procession and commotion of the city. As Kodlak took Fehn through the courtyard, she felt herself stumble. There was a man standing in the courtyard, his arms were folded moodily over his broad chest and he watched the Companions as they trained with swords and bows on the dummies which littered the stone courtyard.

"Skjor!"

Barked Kodlak. The balding man excused himself from his supervising and joined the Harbinger and his stray.

"What's this, Kodlak? She looks like death."

Kodlak nodded his snowy head and Fehn found herself leaning in closer for warmth as the old man said to Skjor in an undertone,

"Yes – this is our newest recruit. I suspect she's got Rot."

Skjor's face didn't betray his feeling of uneasiness at the Harbinger's words. Instead, the younger man simply nodded and said – a hint of sympathy coloured his tone,

"Kodlak, you know there's no cure…"

The Harbinger laughed throatily and clapped his second-in-command on the shoulder.

"There's always a cure! One just has to look!"

Skjor's eyes narrowed and he watched as Kodlak took Fehn's elbow and manoeuvred her towards the large oaken doors of the mead hall. She was quickly ushered down the stairs into the lower levels of Jorvaskrr finding it difficult to match the tall Harbinger's steps; Fehn's own little feet began to drag. Before she knew it she was being sat down on a plush chair and a warm cup of spiced wine was placed into her hands.

"Drink, lass."

Kodlak commanded shortly. Fehn did as she was bid and enjoyed the sweet wine as it tingled on her tongue and brought a little colour into her bony cheeks. As she drank, she watched Kodlak produce a long pipe from inside his armour. Lighting it, he puffed on it for a moment before sitting down on the plush chair opposite Fehn. Her eyes were drooping, placing her cup on the table, she asked fearfully as Kodlak watched her very closely,

"S-sir...You don't really think I have the Rot, do you?"

Kodlak's old face crinkled and creased even more as he smiled at the girl. As he smoked, his laughter was spluttering and full of mirth. Fehn was confused as he beamed at her, the crow's feet at his eyes very prominent – he said,

"No, no, lass! Maybe rot of soul, but most definitely not _the_ Rot. If you had such an ailment – trust me – you'd know."

Fehn was confused. Frowning at the smiling Harbinger, she enquired,

"Then…why'd you tell that man you thought I had the Rot?"

Kodlak's mirth didn't diminish. Taking a long draw of his pipe, he exhaled the sweet smelling fumes and sighed contentedly before answering her,

"It was a bluff I told Skjor. I had totally forgotten that he was presiding over Ria's training today and would be in the courtyard – but I had to tell him something. He's right, you do look like death, are you sick?"

Fehn averted her eyes and stared down at her feet. She honestly had no idea what was wrong with her, but when she had seen Ulfric she had been gripped by a sudden anger and insatiable rage that she could not seem to sate and in that moment everything seemed just so much simpler if he was dead. She knew that if he did die by her hand, she too would have been slaughtered, but that fate too didn't seem very bleak at all to her – considering the state she was in now. Feeling Kodlak's gaze on her, Fehn quickly shrugged her shoulders and gripped the base of her neck with her hand,

"Just under the weather I guess."

She lied. Kodlak's eyes did not leave her face and she began to squirm under his scrutiny.

"And so why did you try'n shoot down Ulfric?"

Her chest tightened at that. Scratching her neck, Fehn frowned at the sensitivity of the flesh. Trying to quickly think of a lie or a way to divert the old man so she could make a run for the door, she was surprised when Kodlak leaned forward and patted her knee tenderly,

"You don't need to worry about the Companions tattling to the Stormcloaks. What side you support is of no matter to us – we support ourselves and keep personal views just that – personal. So, out of curiosity, why did you try and shoot him down?"

At that Fehn found her shoulders slumping. Bowing her dark head, she uttered quietly,

"I-I…I don't know. I made an oath to the Stormcloaks…I am so enthralled by Skyrim, I feel trapped. Caged, I just thought of lashing out…I don't think I'd have really shot him."

There was a pause and she heard Kodlak take another draw of his pipe. Tearing her gaze away from the floor, she watched him as he stared up to the low ceiling and blinked contemplating,

"Yes you would have."

Fehn frowned and snapped,

"No, I wouldn't…"

She was stopped as Kodlak blinked down and sighed sadly,

"You know at my age you'll come to miss the smell of blood…strange, I know."

Fehn gawped. Blinking slowly, she sighed and turned her face away from the Harbinger. Giving her a sidelong glance, Kodlak smirked and licked his lips as he pulled the pipe away from his mouth,

"You know, you still have to square your debt with the Companions."

There was a sudden rush as cups and plates fell to the chamber floor. Fehn got to her feet and turned to Kodlak and snapped loudly,

"Didn't you hear me say 'enthralled'!"

Kodlak's eyes were steady. Like an old greyhound, he lifted his head and stared at her quite blandly as if Fehn's anger would do him much harm should he engage her or not. His calmness made her feel foolish. Kneeling, Fehn picked up the plates and cups and returned them to the table as Kodlak watched her.

"I'm sorry, sir. I-I didn't mean to lose my temper…I'm just so frustrated by all this."

Kodlak guffawed and placed a big gloved hand on her head and said in a pleasant tone,

"I know you're under a lot of pressure. Vilkas told me of the nature of your pilgrimage, no, before you fly off the handle – he didn't betray your trust. I'd guessed as much already. I'm old enough to know what it means when the Greybeards shout 'Dovahkiin' into the heavens…You are the Dragonborn, aren't you?"

Fehn felt her cheeks flush and nodded solemnly. Just then the sound of footsteps approaching alarmed her. Kodlak sat unfazed – his hand still resting on Fehn's head. Through the doorway came Vilkas, his jaw was set and he eyed her coldly when he saw Fehn.

"Ah, Vilkas. Wonderful timing, my boy."

Turning to the surely Companion, Kodlak said in a friendly tone,

"Our new blood here has returned to fulfil her debt to us. Take her out back and test that sword arm."

Fehn's gaze flicked from Vilkas to Kodlak and she shook her head causing the Harbinger to remove his hand,

"Oh, I'm sorry…I can't right now…I have to go and greet Ulfric and watch the ceremony."

Kodlak smiled warmly down at her and behind Vilkas another man slipped out from the doorway. He was older than even Kodlak and had a much wrinkled face and an impressive mane of white braided hair and a silver moustache which curled at the sides. Under his grey bushy eyebrows were a set of ice-blue eyes – as pale as Vilkas' although Fehn suspected that this man's eyes were so pale due to age. He folded his arms and Fehn noticed a pair of strong arms to carry the iron mace he had hanging at his hip. Addressing her, he said gruffly,

"Vignar Greymane. Pleasure to meet you, Dragonborn. Ulfric mentioned you quite profoundly in his letter and Stone-Fist has been banging on about you the past week. The ceremony you'll be missing is mine – don't worry I'm sure I can spare you. Unlike Balgruuf I don't really need or care for prestige. If a Dragonborn was at my crowning – what a guest to have – but since it seems that so much rests on you, I think it'd be poor of me as Jarl to deny you training when Galmar says you so desperately need it."

Fehn was agape and stumbled to her feet weakly. She noted that Vilkas was staring at her almost concerned at her appearance. Bowing to Vignar, she mumbled,

"Uh, thank you…but what about Ulfric…?"

Vignar Greymane shook his head and waved his gnarled hand.

"You leave Ulfric to me. He owes the Companions a score of favours over the years and I think he can do me this one turn."

With that Kodlak got to his feet and spread his arms out,

"So then it's settled; Vilkas you take the girl out and Vignar, you and I have a ceremony to attend."


	33. Trial the First

**Whoa! The feedback I've gotten on this fic has been amazing! Thank you so much, guys & girls - you're all awesome. I'm really, really glad that people like the character of Fehn tehe. Anyway, sorry that the next few chapters are gonna' be veering off into the heavy dialogue dimension & hopefully none of you slip into a coma xD Also, I dunno' if you guys are feeling all this branching I've been doing, so please, R&R & let me know, kay? Weell, anywho - thanks again - & hope you all enjoy the fic -hearts-**

**~ Nommy**

* * *

><p>Chapter XXXIII – Trial the First<p>

"_Ah, Luca! You'll take a gamble won't you?"_

_Turning his handsome head to Gaius, Luca smiled his wide and charming smile._

"_Of course, Gaius. Although, who could win against such a competitor?"_

_The dark-skinned general smirked at the flattering and began to cast the dice. Luca flashed a rueful smile down on his sister and winked as he took a seat opposite Gaius. Fehn watched carefully as her dark-haired brother engaged in the game of dice. She was only new to the court of the Emperor and most unaccustomed to word-play, lacking the silver tongue that was needed to thrive in such an environment, Fehn honestly found the court and its inhabitants lax and gluttonous. They were on a progress of Cyrodiil and they had finally come to a halt in a grand house in the countryside._

_Fehn grew tired of watching the dice and her eyes drifted around the room. The whole court was in a state of merry-making. The Emperor, Titus Mede, sat on a throne of gold and tapped his foot to the jovial music with a smile on his easy-going face. The ladies of the court were all dancing and playing - a flurry of baby blues and innocent pinks, their dark hairs all loose and bouncing while they danced – all hoping to catch the eye of some lord or young man. The gentlemen, lords and ushers were drinking and gambling in high spirits. Their clothes fine and their jaws shaven, they the very picture of Imperial grandeur as their wives who all had their hair bound and under fine hoods of cloth of gold and silver muslin stood behind them and poured their wine and smiled sweetly at the behest of their husbands. It was a very fine outing indeed._

_The Lord of the house, Lord Bara'qua, was a Khajit and was sitting on a slightly less grand throne than the Emperor. His tabby tail swished lazily as he tapped his claw on the wood of his chair and watched the dancing with his amber eyes. Fehn was quite intrigued by the Khajit lord. She was only new to the lavish scene of the Emperor's inner circle – one that her father and brother was a part of. She wondered if the cat-like lord had inherited his land or hand simply earned it at bequeath of the Emperor at his side, either way, it was quite strange for a Khajit to be a land owner – especially when the land was so fine._

"_Will the fine lady not play a hand?"_

_Fehn's attention was diverted for a moment and she gazed down blandly at Gaius Maro. He grinned at her in his annoying, self-satisfied way. His father was a Commander – just like her and Luca's father, Penitus. Only his father, Commander Maro, was only half as talented – he was just about as able as his own son, which was, more's the pity – not very. Fehn genuinely found it appalling that a buffoon like Gaius Maro had been elevated to a station beyond that of her exceptional brother on account of his father's connections absurd. What was worse was that Fehn and Luca had to keep up the courtly pretence of friendship – as was the Imperial way. Everyone was a politician at heart. Catching her brother's glance, Fehn beamed down at Gaius. Luca – always the golden climber – stood up and allowed Fehn to take his seat,_

"_She will indeed my friend."_

_Gaius smiled and stipulated levelly to Luca,_

"_Hmm, yes, indeed she will - with you sleuthing over her shoulder no doubt, eh, Anonamy?"_

_Luca chuckled and replied in a voice that was dripping with sincerity,_

"_Oh, not I. My sister is known in our home to be a very shrewd gambler – one could say barely at all as she's lost not a septim in our house."_

_There was a roar of laughter from the men watching the interplay and some giggles from several ladies. Fehn kept her plastic smile slathered on her face and felt Luca's comforting hand on her shoulder. Taking the dice, her long fingers brushed the gold in the middle of the table and asked sweetly,_

"_So, Maro, what'll your stakes be?"_

_Gaius' eyes flashed and Fehn's smile never wavered. As Gaius tossed the dice, Fehn gazed over her shoulder and spotted her father eye her from across the hall. He was sitting next to one of the Lords and he was enjoying a jest but he was watching her. Once the Lord was distracted for a moment, he ever so slightly nodded for her to continue the game and never waver in their onwards and upwards movement. Fehn understood and immediately and returned her attention to the dice and felt Luca give her shoulder an encouraging squeeze and found herself exhausted by the constant bandying of courts and lords._

"Eyes up!"

Vilkas snapped as Fehn sluggishly parried a heavy blow. Casting her droopy eyes up, Fehn snarled and lunged for the large man,

"Ah, there you are!"

He growled as Fehn swung her orcish sword at his belly. He easily knocked the greenish blade aside and spun around, avoiding Fehn's attack. The Imperial girl shrieked as she was unable to stop herself and without Vilkas to fall into, crashed head-on into the rough stone wall. There was a cackle from the little porch where a few other Companions had stayed to watch the training. Fehn rubbed her grazed nose and turned a blackened glare on the fair-haired Nord woman, Njada, who was slapping one of her long legs and laughing at Fehn. Beside her sat Vilkas' twin, Farkas, his blue eyes were rapt as he watched the interplay. With a sigh, Fehn got to her feet and gripped the hilt of her blade. Vilkas leaned on his sword and said to Fehn levelly,

"Hmm, your footwork's shoddy, but your technique is well. Your tutelage is good; you don't flourish your wrist like a fencer, but brandish like a warrior. It's those feet we need to work on, your control in essence."

Silently Fehn nodded and sheathed her sword. Stepping past Vilkas she moved into the shade of the porch and took a swig of some mead. The cold beverage gave her haggard cheeks some colour. After a moment, Fehn turned on her heel and swept past Njada and Farkas and back into the nippy Skyrim sunshine. Plying her sword, she planted her feet apart and was poised for defence and attack. Staring down Vilkas, she uttered,

"Alright, let's continue."


	34. Bartering and Blundering

Chapter XXXIV – Bartering and Blundering

Rain had begun to pelt down heavily on the city of Whiterun; the chilly sun had all but abandoned them. Fehn's breath came roughly as she sidestepped a lunge from Vilkas. Parrying a particularly heavy blow, Fehn slipped unceremoniously in the puddles that were forming at her feet. Vilkas allowed no stop and instead kicked her wrist out from under her. Yelping, Fehn fell into the muddy water and spluttered. Their little crowd – which now consisted of Torvar, Farkas, Ria and Njada – were silent as they watched.

Fehn eyed Vilkas darkly. Spitting the disgusting water from her mouth, she wiped her chin and got to her feet. Vilkas' face was stoic as they prowled around one another. Fehn moved first. Swinging her curved blade, Vilkas caught the attack and threw her backwards. Fehn fell back a little and tried to keep herself upright, swinging her sword again, she aimed for his heavy armour. It was useless; Vilkas was still quick in his defence, even for a big man. Fehn could feel her own patience dwindle. Stepping back, the Imperial psyched Vilkas by flourishing her sword and then kicking muddy water into Vilkas' face,

There was uproar from the porch as the Companions obviously didn't appreciate the underhanded attack. Fehn ignored them and shoulder-barged Vilkas to the ground while he was distracted with his eyes. Fehn held her sword to his throat as he lay sprawled out on the increasingly wet ground. Wiping his brow, the large man snarled at Fehn,

"That was cheating. In a fair fight – you'd be dead, Imperial."

Fehn scoffed and lowered her sword,

"Oh, and kicking my wrist out from under me isn't cheating? Grow up, Vilkas."

The moment her blade was stayed Vilkas got to his feet and pointed an accusing finger at her,

"Me grow up? What about you, Imperial!"

Fehn rounded on him, slapping his hand away from her,

"What about me, Vilkas?"

A vein pulsed at his neck. Leaning in closer, he hissed,

"I know you're only here for protection, Fehn. Why else would you come to the Companions? I've heard what the people are saying about you…"

Fehn cut him off by grabbing the front of his tunic, her nails biting into his flesh,

"And you believe all that slander, huh?"

Vilkas averted his cold eyes and Fehn scoffed, nodding her head, she brutally pushed him back.

"Oh, of course, well that's not surprising from big ol' gullible Vilkas. That says a lot about you, doesn't it? And as a matter of fact, I came to the Companions once for protection and they gave me you - I'm here a second time only to pay for services rendered!"

Her anger spent, Fehn turned quickly on her heel and was about to leave him there alone when he gripped her wrist. Fehn growled as the rope-burn marks scorched and burned at his touch. Whipping around, she knocked him back and he fell to the ground again. The rain was coming down almost vertically now and Fehn's hair clung to her face. Balling her fists, she rumbled,

"Watch who you're grabbing, Vilkas!"

Vilkas' face was contorted with anger and he bounded up like a whippet. Slamming his fist into Fehn's arm, she winced. Dropping her sword, her hands were outstretched like talons. Using Vilkas' thigh as a step, Fehn wound her arm around his neck and laced her fingers through his hair and pulled hard. Vilkas grunted and roared his anger and tried to swat her off of his back. But the small Imperial clung on like a bird that sits in a crocodile's maw. Finally Vilkas managed to get a grip of her cloak and drag her off of him. Fehn was winded as she was thrown harshly ferociously to the ground, water splashing around her as she landed. Vilkas stood over her ominously, from her vantage point looking up at him, with the sky swelling with rain and the heavy droplets which cascaded down on them both, Fehn felt a little afraid of him then.

For a long moment there was quiet. Suddenly a small voice from the porch rung,

"Vilkas…"

It was Torvar.

"Come on, we'll have a drink."

Fehn watched as Vilkas produced his sword and held it over her. For a moment, she did think that he would kill her right then and there, but instead, he simply dropped it allowing it to clang rudely at Fehn's side,

"Take that up to Eorland, whelp."

Whiterun was clogged and congested with people as the crowning ceremony was beginning to take place. Dragonsreach stood proudly at the summit of the city, the Jewel of Whiterun. Kodlak stood in the procession of prominent figures and watched as Vignar Greymane addressed a few of the city's merchants. He was startled slightly by a hand coming down gently on his shoulder, it was Ulfric Stormcloak.

"Ah, Ulfric, my boy, what can I do for you?"

Ulfric's gaze was tense. Quietly, the Jarl asked,

"Vignar has told me that the Dragonborn has been enthralled to you and the Companions. Is this true?"

Kodlak chuckled warmly and placed his big hand over Ulfric's in a fatherly way,

"Oh, Fehn, why yes. She will make a fine Companion, don't you think?"

Ulfric's eyes did not waver. Drawing the old man closer, Ulfric threatened darkly,

"Remember that she is in me and my company's keeping. She made the oath."

At that Kodlak turned to face Ulfric. The rain was like a transparent sheet between the two of them,

"Maybe you can take this as a lesson,"

He started and Ulfric squared his shoulders as the old man continued,

"And also a reminder, you're cause is the preventing of thrall for all of Skyrim and for everybody in it. I know of Fehn's oath and won't argue with you over her allegiance, just remember, Ulfric, when you force a dog to heel it'll either bite you or hate you."

Ulfric's throat contracted and he averted his eyes from Kodlak's own. Suddenly the Jarl's shoulders slumped and he whispered to the Companion,

"I know that I'm contradicting my principals by even making my men swear oaths, Kodlak. I know that for liberation to win out I must trust in my own subjects…I just wish I could trust the Dragonborn."

Kodlak's face was contemplating and bland. Patting Ulfric's shoulder, Kodlak stipulated brightly,

"You have every reason not to trust her. She's new to this land and from a place where the people fight mostly with their brains and not their fists. She's confused and a little down-trodden; I think the Companions would be a good test of character for her. No one's trying to fleece her from you, Ulfric; you'll end up losing her if you quash her anymore. Do you accept this advice, son?"

The younger man nodded and smiled a little tiredly. Patting the Harbinger's forearm, Ulfric nodded and said warmly,

"You are a good man, Kodlak. I know now why you are the Harbinger. You take care of Fehn for the time being,"

Casting his troubled gaze to the summit of High Hrothgar which loomed over the city casting a shadow on them, Ulfric stated frankly,

"I've a feeling that those Greybeard's will not take well to her fighting for me."

Fehn mumbled angrily to herself as she scaled the slopes which lead up to the legendary Sky Forge which was manned by Eorland Greymane, Vignar Greymane's younger brother. Fehn was stamping along unseeingly when she heard someone calling her from the courtyard before the slopes. Turning, the Imperial's dark gaze fell on Farkas. Waving her arm, he nodded and joined her on the slopes. Gripping the base of his neck, the huge Nord, frowned and said in an apologetic tone,

"Uh, hi, I-I just wanted to say sorry for my brother. He's a little…hot-headed. I saw the way he tossed you, are you okay? It must've hurt?"

Fehn felt her face soften and her anger cool. It was strange to see Vilkas' likeness in such a different state. Usually Vilkas' face was hard and scowling; Farkas on the other hand had a soft sort of innocence to his own features and for a brief moment Fehn found herself thinking that if Vilkas had a more sympathetic countenance he might even be handsome. Finding a smile for Farkas, Fehn shrugged and lied,

"Yes, I'm fine, Farkas, thank you for your concern. Why are you not at the crowning ceremony?"

Farkas waved his hand and frowned. The rain was bouncing off his iron breastplate and his shaggy hair was matted from being wet,

"Ah, politics, Jarls, Stormcloaks, Empire, I don't care for it, just tell me who needs bludgeoning!"

Fehn giggled and absently tapped Vilkas' sword off a stone on the slopes. Flicking her gaze up to Farkas, she asked sincerely,

"You're very different from you're brother aren't you?"

Farkas smiled – an expression which Fehn was amazed to see – and shrugged again,

"Vilkas is quick, I'm slow."

Fehn frowned,

"Oh, don't say that."

Farkas continued smiling quite unabashed,

"No, no, I don't mind. Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor and my brother has his smarts."

Fehn laughed and concluded,

"A good pairing then so it seems. Have you been in the Companions long?"

Farkas nodded and said,

"Yes, me and Vilkas have been here since we were little pups. Jurgen was our un-father; he raised us, but didn't sire us. Y'know, Vilkas will be mad if you keep Eorland waiting, when your done with your errand why don't you come down to the mead hall, we can have a pint together?"

Fehn nodded and smiled,

"Yeah, I'd like that. I guess I'll have to get to know you all if I'm to fit in around here."

Farkas chuckled and started his decent from the slopes,

"Just don't be a milk drinker and you'll fit in just fine, kid!"


	35. The Skyforge

Chapter XXXV - The Skyforge

The rain did not stop. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance to the west and Fehn gripped her cloak, pulling it tightly around her shoulders.

The Skyforge was an impressive sight to behold and for a good five minutes Fehn stood there in the driving rain gawking. She was so transfixed on the huge stone eagle that she lost her grip on Vilkas' sword,

"Damn!"

She swore, and bent down to retrive the weapon. Fishing the blade out from one of the puddles, Fehn was surprised when a pair of large feet enetered her field of vision. Slowly the Imperial's gaze slid upwards until it met with Eorland Greymane's stern glare. He was a big man, big even for a Nord. With long white hair and a pair of meaty steel-shaping arms. Flashing an innocent smile up at him, Fehn flinched internally when he simply cocked a bushy eyebrow in return,

"Can I help you?"

He grumbled and Fehn got to her feet.

"Uh, yes, here."

She held out Vilkas's sword to the large man, feeling very much like a child presenting a moppet to an elder. Eorland was silent as he plucked the blade from Fehn's hand.

"Hmm, yes. Vilkas mentioned needing his blade sharpened. Come over here by the forge, let me get a look at you."

Fehn watched curiously as the smith took the blade over to the forge and followed along behind him quietly. Craning her neck to get a better look at the magnificent Skyforge, Fehn was agape. The forge's main element was the twenty foot tall stone eagle which sat perched grandly presiding over the shaping of the legendary skyforge steel.

The flames from the forge illuminated the huge stone structure and almost made the titanic structure come alive. Fehn was amazed at the artistery of the forge. She was shaken out of her reverie by Eorland's own appraisal; he was examining her just as closely as she was his forge,

"An Imperial in Skyrim weilding an Orcish blade? What a strange chimera of a girl you are."

Fehn frowned at this description and returned her gaze to the stone eagle,

"Who built this amazing forge? The Companions?"

Eorland Greymane emmited a sharp bark of laughter,

"A fine observation, afterall, the forge overlooks Jorrvaskr. But no, the Companions didn't build the Skyforge - no one knows who built it."

Fhen shrugged and countered carelessly,

"How do you know they didn't build it then?"

An awkward silence engulfed them which was filled only by the resounding raindrops which splattered everywhere. Eorland responded finally with a pert "hmph" and returned to his work.

"Tell Vilkas his blade'll be ready within the day."

Fehn nodded and moved forward towards the forge and absently touched one of the many warhammers that sat on it completed - quite unabashed by Eorland's chilly dismissal, Fehn pondered,

"Does Vilkas make everyone do things for him? Y'know, run errands and stuff?"

With a sigh Eorland brushed past her and moved the hammer she was examining away from her and stoked the fire roughly,

"Nah, just the new blood. Don't worry they were all whelps once - they just might not like to talk about it. Don't just do everything he tells you, no one rules anyone in the Companions. Every man is his own, every woman, her own."

Eorland's gaze was stern as he unfolded his arms and shoved a poker into the flames of the forge - ignoring Fehn. Ignoring his ignorance, fehn watched as the grizzled smith began to hammer steadily on some cherry-red metal. Sparks flew into the moist air and drifted lazily for a moment before dwindling into nothingness. Fehn piped,

"Surely someone leads them? Kodlak?"

Greymane promptly silenced her by throwing the white-hot metal into the water-filled trough and interjected firmly,

"Kodlak is the Harbinger, yes. They listen to him, yes. He rules them, no. Kodlak's a damn good man and deserves anyone's rapt attention. Harbinger or not."

Raising her eyebrows, Fehn blinked away the rain.

"So, no one leads them? That's...curious I suppose."

Eorland smirked and rounded,

"Almost as curious as an Imperial in Skyrim wielding an Orcish blade, am I right? No, but joking aside, it's true; I don't know how they've done it, no leaders since Ysgrammor."

Fehn's wet brow furrowed,

"Ysgrammor?"

She enquired shortly and Eorland threw his gaze up to the eagle for strength and exclaimed,

"By the Nine! I can tell you're Imperial with all these blasted questions!"

Fehn shirked and grinned wolfishly,

"Sorry."

Eorland turned one of his blue eyes on her and cocked an eyebrow.

"No you're not."

He replied knowingly. Fehn cleared her throat and pertly announced,

"Well, nice talking. I should get back."

"Gods be praised!"

Fehn giggled like a girl and waved unabashed, moving away from the Skyforge.

"Wait!"

Fehn turned back with a puzzled expression on her dripping face. Eorland was loping towards her with a beautifully crafted branded shield. Fehn was immdediately flattered and began a speel of declines,

"Oh, I couldn't...I mean I could..."

Eorland's face was stoic,

"What? No! This shield is Aela's, I was repairing it for her."

Fehn's mood sank and she could feel embarrassment bite into her stomach.

"Oh."

Was all she said as Greymane approached her with the shield.

"I'm asking you for a favour, could you go and give this down to Aela? My wife's in mourning right now and I've got to get back to her."

Taking the shield, Fehn's expression was sympathetic.

"Oh, of course...I'm sorry for her loss. I'll make sure Aela gets this."

With a nod of approval, Eorland said shortly,

"Well done."

Fehn watched as the large man made his way down the slopes and into the city of Whiterun. Eying Aela's shield, Fehn couldn't help but wonder if she had failed a test set by Eorland by doing a favour for him when he explicitly told her not to allow herself to be bossed around.

The mead hall of Jorvaskrr was warm and welcoming. A hugle old Nord fire blazed in the centre of the main hall. Surrounding the inferno were many tables ladled tankards of mead and bottles of ale, plates were heaped with sweet meats, venison, beef and steamed vegetables all drizzled with beefy broth and gravy. All the food was hearty and filling.

Sitting at and around the tables were a few of the Companions; Njada Stone-Arm was showing why exactly she got her name and was promptly beating Torvar in an arm-wrestling competition. Farkas was barely keeping track and was draining his tankard, just simply enjoying being idle. Ria and Vilkas were in deep conversation about the pros and cons about duel-wielding blades, of which Ria was for and Vilkas was against.

The only other person in the hall was Tilma the Haggard, an old Nord who tended the hall and kept the place clean. She bustled forward when Fehn enetered the hall with Aela's shield in hand. Fehn smiled a little awkwardly as Tilma eyed her, a twinkle in the old woman's gaze.

"Hello, dear."

She began sweetly,

"You're looking for the Huntress, yes?"

She pryed, nodding to Aela's shield. Fehn's eyes were boulbous, she was so unnerved by the woman. Tilma cackled warmly and swept the floor idly before motioning down the stairs,

"The Huntress is with the Iron Wolf, be careful to knock before you go in, hmm?"

The hag unleashed another rasp of laughter and Fehn thanked her shortly before slipping down to the second floor of Jorvaskrr. As she made her way down the stairs, Fehn found herself hugging Aela's shield close after speaking with Tilma. Old women really seemed creepier in Skyrim as opposed to the old women of Cyrodiil.


	36. Whelps and Welcoming

Chapter XXXVI - Whelps and Welcoming

"Hmm, I don't know what Kodlak's thinking letting that whelp join our ranks."

Aela averted her clear blue gaze and turned her face from Skjor's. His arms were slinked around her slim waist, and her arms hooked around his strong neck. Gently touching her cheek, he pulled her face around and asked tenderly,

"What's the matter?"

Aela frowned and shrugged, diengaging herself from him, he watched as she moved across the room; he knew better than to draw her back. Aela hugged herself and shrugged again,

"I don't know...I would never question the old man's judgement, but..."

Skjor gingerly edged up alongside her and stroked her arm gently,

"But?"

He prompted and Aela turned and fell into his embrace once more.

"I think we should think before we pass judgement. I mean, she did save Farkas from that giant, and she did appararently slay a dragon at the watchtower. She may be a valuable asset to the Companions. I heard that Kodlak was planning work for her."

Skjor nodded and sighed lazily.

"Yes, he did tell me that. I also heard from Njada that she pummeled Vilkas out in the yard."

Aela flashed a wicked little smile at that and laughed lightly, moving closer to him,

"Well it's about time. Talos knows that Vilkas is not the sweeter of the two and probably deserved a little slap."

Skjor chuckled throatily and gripped her waist a little tighter.

"Vilkas is just more rigid than Farkas. He's the most wary of us all...Although his wariness is not without warrant - she did help sack this city."

The Nord woman looked away and bobbed her head in agreement. She felt him tremble a little at her touch as she brushed her long fingers along his stubbly cheek,

"I know...he seemed more cut up about that than anything, but Vignar will vouch for her - it's because of the Stormcloaks he's now Jarl."

The silence was heavy. For a moment they stood there in eachothers arms and Aela moved first. Leaning forward, she kissed him softly and sweetly.

"We should run out tonight."

Skjor breathed huskily and Aela purred her approval and smiled. They were disturbed by a light tapping on the chamber door. Breaking away from Aela, Skjor straightened his iron breastplate and nodded for Aela to answer the door. The Huntress nodded and pulled open the oaken doors. Standing in the threshold was Fehn with her shield in her hands. Taking in the scene, Fehn looked from Aela's cold hard stare to Skjor's stern gaze.

"Uh...From Eorland, up in the forge."

She blundered and held out Aela's shield to her. The Nord took the shield quietly and looked over it while Fehn rocked on her heels and tried to ignore Skjor's glaring. Finally when the Huntress deemed the shield alright, she returned her attention to Fehn,

"Well, well; our fresh meat."

Fehn frowned,

"Excuse me?"

Aela scoffed and nodded for the girl to come inside. Slipping inside, Fehn wrung her hands nervously. Skjor flicked a critical eye over her and stated flatly,

"So, Kodlak did actually induct you. I hope your ready for a hard apprenticeship, we here at Jorvaskrr don't simply roist in the mead hall like drunken rabble, no, here, we train and hone our skills. At the end of the day, young pup, you earn your mead."

Fehn nodded said solemnly,

"Yes, I understand. Galmar said that I need to work more on my footwork."

The big Nord folded his arms accross his chest and exchanged a wry glance with Aela before the Huntress rounded on Fehn,

"Well I'd say you've earned your drink for today. I heard that you wrecked Vilkas in the yard? But tell me, do you think you could batter him in a real fight?"

Fehn gaped like a carp for a moment. Of course Vilkas would surely waste her in a real scuffle. He had a lot of strength were Fehn had speed, his was very tactical whereas Fehn was slapdash. No, she would never willingly cross blades with Vilkas unless it was a fencing match and nothing more. Aela and Skjor were both watching her determidly, and Fehn could feel their eyes on her.

"I prefer to let my blade do the talking."

Aela the Huntress laughed aloud and clapped the smaller girl on the back heavily. Fehn grimaced and Skjor barely hid a smirk,

"Ah, brilliant! You might be worthy of the Hunt yet! It's about time warriors were not posturing milk drinkers. Finally a woman who is humble and lets her actions speak for her. That is wise."

Fehn blushed a little at the praise and felt her shoulders shrink up. Aela winked at Fehn and turned to Skjor,

"Well, she should be shown where she and the other whelps sleep."

Skjor curtly bobbed his head and unfolded his arms. Turning his sharp gaze on her, he said,

"Aye, that she should, but first; tell me, new blood, are you sure that the life of a Companion is befitting of you?"

Aela turned and watched Fehn as she thought. The Imperial threw her own gaze to the floor before muttering levelly,

"I am honoured to be embraced by the Companions. I hope I can serve our outfit well."

Aela raised her eyebrows, smirking at Skjor, her eyes twinkled. Skjor huffed and placed his hands on his hips,

"Hmph, a little evasive. I can't see why you and Vilkas have cause to argue - but good answer none-the-less."

Fehn smiled and ducked her head,

"Me and Vilkas don't exactly see eye-to-eye, but he's a good person and I would trust his sword-arm with my life."

Fehn saw as Skjor's face softened and he gave her a lop-sided smile,

"Now that is an answer befitting of a Companion. Aela?"

The Huntress nodded and said,

"Very good. Farkas can show you where you'll be resting your head. Farkas!"

Fehn turned and gazed down the low-ceilinged hall and saw as Farkas emerged from his own chamber. He must have abandoned the role of umpire in Njada and Torvar's arm wrestling match. Swaggering up the hall, he poked his shaggy head around the door of the chamber and asked a little sullenly,

"Did you call me?"

Aela laughed and jested,

"Of course stone ears! Who else?"

Farkas rolled his eyes and nodded slowly. Aela grinned and came up behind Fehn, throwing a muscled arm around Fehn's slight shoulders, the Huntress requested,

"Can you show the new one where she and the other whelps sleep?"

Just then did it seem that the burly Nord man seem to notice Fehn. Staring at her with his icy blue eyes, his face seemed to soften as he looked upon her and her limitied stature.

"Oh right,"

He began tenderly and nodded for her to follow him,

"yeah, follow me."

Fehn nodded and he started to walk down the hall. Turning to Aela and Skjor, she nodded,

"Ah, thank you for your time."

Aela shook her head,

"Not at all."

Skjor dipped his head to her and rumbled in an undertone,

"Yes, yes. Welcome to the hall, kid."

With a final wave, Fehn bid them farewell and jogged up alongside Farkas.

"Aela and Skjor like to tease me - but they're good people and they push us to be our best. Eh, it's good to see a new face around here."

Fehn had to take three steps for every one of his.

"It gets boring around here sometimes."

Fehn frowned and countered,

"Surely not? I thought you were a band of advernturers, sell swords?"

Farkas grinned and turned an eye on her as he kept up his brisk stride,

"Adventuring can get boring too. I can only kill so many bandits and clear out so many vampires, y'know?"

Fehn laughed and pointed out,

"Yes and Skyrim does seem to be in abundance of bandits and vampires."

Farkas tapped his nose and nodded in agreement. They were gaining on the doors which lead to the sleeping quarters. Following Farkas down the well-lit hall, he said a little forlornly,

"I hope we keep you - this life is dangerous. Alright, here we go. You'll sleep here. Just pick a bunk and fall down in it when you're tired."

Fehn nodded and smiled up at him a little shyly,

"Thanks Farkas."

The big man nodded in return and smiled thinly. Patting her shoulder, he said,

"Oh, and welcome to the Companions."


	37. Taking Leave

Chapter XXXVII - Taking Leave

Night fell on the city of Whiterun and the city was sulking. Fehn had noted the strong Imperial pressence in the Hold of Whiterun before, and the people seemed none-too-pleased with the Stormcloak soldiers standing guard at their gates and brawling in their taverns. Vignar had firmly established himself as the one and only Jarl of Whiterun and his first act in this new office was to banish the disgraced Barlgruuf at dusk on his third day as Jarl. His children were to be Vignar's wards - they would most likely not see their father again. Fehn had watched stony faced as Balgruuf was man-handled down to the stables and roughly thrust into a cart with his hands bound. An uncerimonious end to his reign.

"You traitorous bastards!"

The former Jarl barked into the dusky skies. His houscarl, Irileth, had given Fehn a murderous look as she too was physically placed into the cart alongside her liege. Fehn looked away from the scene and backed herself into the crowd. The only one who saw her slink away was Vilkas. He watched with a heavy heart, and a deep feeling of trepidation as the old cob that was pulling Balgruuf's cart was roughly slapped on the rump by the man driving the cart. A wave of dust engulfed the crowd as the cob pulled the cart down the road and away from the true Nords which had gathered to see the dethroned Jarl be sent into banishment. Balgruuf the Greater would seek refuge in Solitude under the protection of Jarl Elisif the Fair, the widow of the late High King Torryg. He would join the growing number of Nord Imperialists who could not live anywhere else in Ulfric's Skyrim.

Fehn quietly opened the big gates that lead into Whiterun and started to walk up towards the Plains District when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning sharply, she started when she saw Vilkas with his hand outstretched towards her wrist. When she turned, he quickly snatched his hand back and mumbled sheepishly,

"Uh, sorry...Gotta' watch who I'm grabbing, eh?"

Fehn stared at him for a moment before smiling. The hollows of her cheeks were grey and her eyes dim. Motioning towards the gate, Fehn said apologetically,

"I'm sorry for him. Once upon a time I too believed in the Empire."

Vilkas turned his cold gaze towards the gates too and his face hardened,

"I don't know, but I just feel it in my heart; this insurrection will be Skyrim's undoing."

Fehn eyed him levelly and cocked her head at him and asked in a mulled tone,

"And why is that?"

The slim warrior shrugged his armoured shoulders and shook his head - still keeping his eyes on the gate,

"When the man who seeks to govern the law breaks the law, then a new order is created while a sound one is destroyed,"

She watched him unblinkingly. Vilkas took a breath and flicked his gaze towards Fehn,

"This new order is called; Ulfric's whim. His advisors will be his favourites, his soldiers: dim men and women who have a misguided sense of nationalism and his subjects will be forced to bend to his will. Skyrim will be thwarted without an Empire to bolster it, trade with it. Skyrim will be diminished."

Fehn blinked and looked over to the gates which were slowly being opened by some Stormcloaks, allowing the citizens to flow back into the city. Fehn caught a glimpse of Ralof through the crowd. The blond squinted at her for a moment before a huge grin spread along his face and he raised his arm and waved at her. Fehn returned his grin and waved back. Vilkas watched the interplay with his arms folded, catching Fehn's eye, he sucked in and huffed his shoulders,

"I don't doubt that they are good people."

He said, meaning the Stormcloak soldiers.

"But even the most docile hound has razor sharp teeth - razor sharp weapons that they never mean to harm anybody, but they do. Swords, they don't feel; they're tools. Tools are made to be used."

Fehn could hear a patronising chime in his voice and shook her head,

"Alright, what are you getting at, Vilkas?"

She exclaimed ruffled. Vilkas shrugged again and said in an indifferent voice,

"Just remember that there are always betters, Fehn. Being in the Companions will spare you of that - for now. But remember that Ulfric Stormcloak owns you. Gods keep you, little tool of war."

With that he unfolded his arms and gently touched her on the shoulder before stalking off into the city.

The sun descended behind the walls of the city, Fehn stood for a moment after Vilkas had left. She was quite unseeing to Ralof who came up beside her,

"Hey, how are you?"

Fehn shook her head agitated before she managed to focus her eyes on his face. He was looking down at her smiling, his dark blue eyes were positively innocent and Fehn found herself suddenly fearful for his well being. He was the first Nord who had ever shown her kindness in Skyrim.

"Ralof?"

His face was confused, shaking his own head, worry was creeping into his expression as he looked at her dishevelled frame and guant face. The red marks around her neck were peeking out from the shield of the scarf she had on. Reaching out, Ralof gripped her arm gently as she ducked her head and sighed,

"Fehn, are you alright?"

Swaying in his grasp, Fehn tipped her head up and and asked earnestly,

"D'you ever think that what we're doing..."

She motioned weakly to the broken roofs and scorched homes and looked back at him,

"All this, is right?"

Ralof frowned and sighed,

"Listen, you don't have to be a Nord to fight for Skyrim's freedom..."

Fehn shook her head and pushed him away a little,

"No, no! I mean this whole 'liberation'...Ralof, there's a difference to being free and just falling under another banner - one that has even more treachery sown through it. I mean, d'you really think Skyrim'll last without the Empire? D'you think Ulfric will be kind to the Dunmer in Windhelm once he has total control, the Argonians on the docks? Will he ever let me go once Skyrim is free?"

Ralof's expression was torn. Averting his honest gaze, she felt his grip on her loosen,

"Listen, Fehn, you're just over tired. Remember the Imperials tried to kill you in Helgen - you weren't even on that damn list and still they would have loped your head off. I know Ulfric doesn't have a tolerance for Dunmer and Argonians..."

"He has no tolerance for anything other than Nords!"

Ralof recoiled from her outburst. He watched concerned as she let out a breath and shook her head slowly. Gazing up at him, Ralof's heart wrenched a little as tears silently spilled from her eyes,

"What'll happen if he loses tolerance with me? What'll happen to me then?"

Silently he shook his head and pulled her in closer and embraced her. She felt so much lighter, so much more frail than she did when he carried her back from Helgen. He patted her back and held her until her trembling subsided.

"You're Dragonborn, Fehn. You bow to no-one, you don't have to answer to anyone, not really. But you have honour, and I know that you'll honour your oath to Ulfric."

Sniffing pathetically, Fehn pulled away and shook her head again,

"No, I abandoned much when I left Cyrodiil, I have no honour. I am an honourless sell sword that got roped into this land's trouble. And, Ralof, if I am above answering to no-one what makes me any different from Ulfric?"

Chucking her under the chin, Ralof said in a serious voice,

"Because you don't have to play pander to the people. Ulfric can't turn and be a tyrant once this war is over - the people wouldn't stand for it. You can do as you wish, be what you want to be. You're free, but your constricted, that's all. Remember you have the power of the Thu'um, just like ol' Tiber Septim himself. If you help us restore Talos, help us Nords reclaim what is ours, if Ulfric shouldn't release you, we - and me as well - would cry out for shame. Don't worry so much, go'n get some rest, everything'll be right in the morning."

Rubbing her arms, he smiled reasuringly. Fehn's worry didn't subside, but she found a smile for him and nodded her head. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she patted his forearm gently and said,

"Thank you, Ralof...you're a good friend."

He averted his gaze for a moment before returning her smile.

"Of course, we're shield-siblings. We've got to look out for eachother."

That night Fehn lay on her bunk in the sleeping quarters of Jorvaskrr. She could hear the light snoring of the others in the chamber, Njada Stonearm and Ria. Turning on the hay bunk, Fehn's wrists began to burn, then her ankles and then finally, her neck. It was like a noose of fire around her throat. Clawing at the burns, Fehn began to splutter. Swinging her legs off the bunk, she went to stand up and her scorched ankles buckled from underneath her. For a long while, she crawled along the floor and out into the low-cielinged hall. Propping herself up against a wall, Fehn sat sobbing and waiting for the burning to subside to a painfull dull throbbing.

"I have to get to Riften."

She uttered quietly in the darkened hall. When she was sure that her ankles would support her, she grabbed her satchel and threw some bits and pieces in it. A fresh tunic, some potions, bread. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she equipted her Orcish sword and stole out of Jorvaskrr.

Slipping through the city was fairly easy. Whiterun had been sick with drink during the celebration of the Stormcloak victory. Creeping past the shrine of Talos in the Wind District, Fehn stopped and gazed up at legendary hero. The man who was accepted into the Halls of Valor, into Sovngarde as a god. A Dragonborn like her. Was she to follow in his footsteps? Tearing her gaze away from the proud and majestic shrine, she slipped away into the shadows and made her way out of Whiterun and down to the stables.

"Need a ride?"

Fehn peeked out from the darkness of her cowl. Peering up at the Nord manning the carriage, she said in a hushed tone,

"I wish to hire your carriage."

The man chuckled and shrugged carelessly,

"Where d'you want t' go? I can take you to any of the Hold capitals."

Scratching her irritated wrists, Fehn loosened the scarf that was wrapped around her mutilated neck.

"Riften. Take me to Riften."


	38. A City of Locks and Keys

Chapter XXXVIII - A City of Locks and Keys

"So it's true, she's gone then?"

Vilkas tried to hide his embarrassment from Kodlak as the old man gazed at him from under his bushy eyebrows. Unlacing his fingers, Kodlak, sighed and predicted in a contemplative voice,

"Ulfric will blame us, and I don't think he'll be inclined to let this slide on the grounds of the services we performed for him. Skjor, what d'you think?"

Skjor averted his eyes for a moment, his arms were folded tightly over his chest and his greying hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He had been out the night before, loping over the tundra of Whiterun Hold searching for their newest recruit; he and Aela had been unable to fine even a scent of the Imperial. Returning his attention to Kodlak, Skjor shook his head, his eyes tired,

"The carriage is gone from the stables, I think we can deduce from that much that she's travelling to another Hold - the driver wouldn't take her anywhere obscure."

Kodlak let out another breath and nodded his grizzled head,

"So what d' we do? Ulfric will be thundering down here within the week demanding where his edge is, and we don't have an answer for him."

Vilkas shuffled his feet and kept his eyes down. Cocking an eyebrow, Kodlak asked silkily,

"You seem troubled, Vilkas, my boy. What's troubling you?"

Skjor rigidly turned to stare at Vilkas, while Kodlak didn't take his good eye off of him. The blue-eyed Nord looked up and shook his head,

"I...I may have said a few things to her yesterday."

Kodlak was unfazed.

"What things?"

He demanded calmly, Vilkas shifted his weight again and mumbled,

"I told her that she was Ulfric's tool. Master, I didn't mean for her to run off, I just..."

He broke off and looked down. Skjor sighed and prompted him snappishly,

"Just what, Vilkas?"

"I just wanted her to hurt. After what she did to Whiterun I was still bitter, but I really didn't want her to flee. I'm sorry."

Skjor let out an exhasperated sigh while Kodlak nodded in understanding.

"Vilkas you're brooding will one day be your undoing. So, now that we have a motive for her running off, now we have to find a solution to bringing her back. Vilkas, since you have spent the most time with Fehn, tell me, do you have any idea of where she would go?"

Vilkas shook his head and shrugged,

"No, she hadn't been looking right since the battle - she looked sick. Yesterday when Balgruuf was banished she seemed ready to give up...physically ready to give up."

Kodlak nodded,

"Yes, the marks upon her neck have been the stock for most of the taverns gossip. I too noticed her physical decline since she last came here seeking a guard for her pilgrimage to the Throat of The World."

Skjor unfolded his arms and leaned forward, placing his gloved hands on the table, he eyed the map upon it and sighed,

"Well, she has only nine places to go. I can't see her tripping to Solitude. There's nothing in the Pale. Hjaalmarch? That's not Stormcloak territory. Falkreath maybe? What if she's planning on returning home?"

Vilkas shook his head,

"No, there's nothing left for her in Cyrodiil, I don't think she'd return there."

Skjor didn't take his eyes off of the map and bobbed his head slowly,

"Alright, so where? Of all the Holds where would she most likely flee to? The Reach? The Rift? It's unknowable...The closest cities to Whiterun are Riften and Windhelm, if Ulfric's up in Dragonsreach right now, what reason does she have to go there, none. And Laila Law-Giver has already declared that she'll support the Stormcloaks...I think we should take a shot and search in the Rift, it's a good place as any - especially for a Stormcloak."

With that, Skjor looked up and nodded to Kodlak. The Harbinger's eyes flicked over to Vilkas,

"Alright, the Rift then. I think since this folly is your own, Vilkas, you shall go and retrieve our lost lamb. Better get her back before Ulfric discovers the loss of his Dragonborn, yes?"

The carriage trundled along at a snail's pace. Fehn sighed and leaned back, she had tried to sleep for most of the journey but was finding the bumpy ride difficult to sleep through. The carriage driver had sang and whistled as he rode, Fehn was disinclined to make chit-chat with him, it seemed that the closer they descended upon Riften, the more irritated her wrists, ankles and neck became. Although Fehn had been racked with a dull pain for most of the trip it was difficult to ignore the beauty of the Rift. It seemed that the Hold of the Rift was in a state of permanent Autumn, golden leaves fell from the trees like septims and everything seemed to be made from bronze and gilt. Pale sunlight shot through the already yellow trees and sparkled on the wet and golden undergrowth. The path was lined with leaves and a few times they had to stop to scrape the muddy leaves from the horse's hooves.

On their third day on the road the driver turned and said over his shoulder,

"We're nearly to Riften now. The Black-Briar Meadery's here too, by the way. A couple mugs a' that an' you'll forget all about this long trip."

They were upon Riften within the hour and Fehn leaned over the wooden rails of the carriage to get a look-see. The city had high walls with vines growing up nearly every inch of them. Pulling up at the stables, Fehn jumped off the carriage and thanked the driver.

"Anything you can tell me about Riften?"

She asked from behind her hood. The man exhaled and stretched his arms along the back of his seat,

"Well, now, I know that this is where the Thieves Guild makes their home - so you'll want t' be careful of that. Oh and also, this is Maven Black-Briar's town, she has the Jarl's ear and the guards in her pocket. So be sure t' stay on her good side of you see her. Also, stay outta' the bunk house, a nice little thing like you'll be mistaken for something loose if you go there. Head over t' the Bee and Barb for a sleep an' a drink, it's run by two Argonians, Talon-Jei and Keerava - they're good people."

Fehn nodded and thanked him again briskly and made her way over to the big gates which lead into the city. To her surprise they were barred and locked. Looking up into the sky, Fehn squinted confused. It was barely nightfall yet, dusk was fast approaching and most cities only closed their gates at night. Throwing caution to the wind, Fehn moved closer to the gates and the guards who stood there bantering between themselves. As she got closer, one of the guards slapped the other one gently on the arm and nodded. Swaggering up to meet her half-way, the guard said menacingly,

"Hold there."

Fehn stopped and eyed the guard suspiciously. His purple livery was worn and his helmet dented and dull, holding up his hand, he said in a sleek voice,

"Before you enter the city - you have to pay the visitor's tax."

"What's the tax for?"

Fehn asked, her eyebrow cocked. The guard shrugged carelessly and said stoutly,

"For the privelege of entering the city. What does it matter? Come on, pay up."

Fehn barely hid her smirk. Looking at him from under her eyelashes, she moved closer and said persuasively,

"This is obviously a shakedown."

At that the guard flinched and stood rigidly. Fehn stopped when she was a little closer and blinked up at him innocently while her hand moved down to the sword which hung at her hip.

"Alright! Alright! Keep it down, you want everyone to hear you? I'll let you in, just let me go'n unlock the gate."

Fehn nodded and motioned for him to do just that and followed along behind him. The second guard watched curiously from behind his helmet and sniggered as the first guard unlocked the gate meekly and said in a spiteful voice,

"Alright, it's open. What're you waiting for then? Get in."

Fehn tipped her head and tossed a gold coin to the second guard and said simply,

"For the visitor's tax."

She smirked as she heard the guard laugh out loud and playfully punch the other guard on the arm before pocketing the coin. Entering the city, Fehn was almost overwhelmed by the stench of fish. Gagging, a guard laughed at her and thumped her on the back,

"Ah, don't worry, outsider! You'll get used to it."

Fehn recovered quickly enough and spluttered,

"So, Riften's a fishing town, eh?"

The guard snorted,

"Well, yeah. Didn't you see Lake Honrich? Biggest lake 'part from the ones they got in the Reach."

Fehn nodded and asked huskily,

"Can you point me in the direction of the Bee and Barb?"

The guard pounted the way towards the Bee and Barb and Fehn thanked her quietly before ploughing on through the smelly congested city. Keeping her eyes peeled for any pickpockets, Fehn saw many little alleyways which were covered in slime, a prime place for a throat cutting or a knifing she thought. The air seemed thick with tension as many of the city's people eyed her like jackals would eye a foal who had wandered into their midst, licking their chops and flashing their fangs to torment it before the killing. Keeping her head down, Fehn tried to remain conspicuous as she slid through the grimy crowd. Finally coming to a small bridge, Fehn realised where the city's stinl was coming from, the city had two tiers it seemed. One that was elevated for trade and business and the more wealthier people of the city and one below for the more poorer residents. Many little walkways extended from the big slimy pillar which held up the first tier that lead to quaint, ugly little hives which passed for houses. Underneathe these walkways were the green waters of the canal which ran through the city and fed out into Lake Honrich.

Fehn's attention was drawn to the middle of the top tier which was littered with little stalls selling various wares; armour stalls, jewellery stalls and others selling barious bits and bobs, basically anything that somebody might want. Slowly Fehn eyed the wares.

"You gonna' buy something or what?"

Fehn turned to gaze at a square-jawed Nord woman in leather armour. Her scowl was daunting and Fehn mutely shook her head,

"Then get lost and come back when you learn to spend gold!"

She could not see that Fehn was offended from behind the cowl, but she simply turned away from the stall and started when she bumped into a large man. Upon the impact Fehn's coin purse jingled rudely and the man's eyes lit up. Shrinking back from him, Fehn mumbled an apology and stalked past him.

"Never done an honest day work for all that coin yer' carrying, eh lass?"

The man asked levelly with smirk on his face. Fehn turned back and asked in a stilted voice,

"Excuse me?"

The man laughed. Taking in his surprisingly well kempt hair, fine clothes, well-shaven beard and clean face, Fehn eyed him suspiciously as he moved closer,

"I said that you've never done an honest work for all that coin in yer' pockets."

Annoyed, Fehn asked stoutly,

"How could you possibly know that?"

The red-headed man shrugged and placed his big hands on his hips,

"It's all about sizing up yer' mark, lass. The way they walk, what they're wearing. It's a dead giveaway."

Fehn scoffed and half turned away and said grandly,

"My wealth is none of your business."

With that she left the man standing in the crowd and made her way over to the Bee and Barb. Although she was out of earshot, the man said quietly and silkily,

"Oh, that's where yer' wrong, lass. Wealth is my business."


	39. A Thief and The Murderer

Chapter XXXIX - A Thief and The Murderer

The city of Riften's repugnant stench hung in the air heavily as Fehn slipped out of the Bee and Barb and made her way down to the lower tier of the city. The creaky and rotted canal docks barely supported even Fehn's slight weight and groaned in protest as she gingerly padded along like a pale shadow.

She was still a litlle shaky on her feet as she glanced at the little hive houses that stacked themselves rudely on top of one another in the slimy walls of the canals. Peeking over the side of the dock, Fehn eyed the gungy green water and wondered how any sort of aquatic life - or any life in general - could thrive there. Fehn also had to fight back the unyielding urge to retch with the constant stink of fish and brine that pervaided the air. The Imperial quickly sussed the overall mood of people in Riften's slimy streets and slippery roads; everyone was tense.

Like drunkards ready to brawl, the city seemed constantly on edge, simply waiting for the worst; and expecting it. Due to the stress of feeling the people's trepidation, Fehn found herself mirroring their stoic and hard-faced expressions. She also noticed that literally everyone walked around with a dagger visable on their belts. Men and women alike all flaunted their means to cut someone down, whether it be in rettaliation of an attack or simply as protection from thieves who would try and nab their hard-earned coin.

Finally after wandering aimlessly around the docks Fehn found herself standing before a set of slippery green steps. Her blood ran cold as she cast her dark gaze upwards and her eyes rested on a grimy, smoggy little building. Hanging over the wood-wormed door and dust-clouded windows hung a sign that was weather-beaten and covered in moss and rot; poking out through the derelict was the name of the building: Honourhall Orphanage.

Fehn felt her head buzz and suddenly she doubled over clutching her stomach and vomitted into the green waters of the canal. Gasping, Fehn sprinted up the slippery stairs, her legs flailed a little as she slipped. Vaulting over the railing at the head of the steps, she bounded into an alleyway trying to put as much distance between her and Honourhall as possible.

Suddenly Fehn's breath came short and she slowed to a halt and rested her hands on her knees. Panting from excertion Fehn got up and looked around her. She was standing face-to-face with a shrine of Talos. The big steel structure was illuminated by a single candle which was flickering at the former emperor's feet. Gazing up, Fehn moved closer to the shrine in a daze. Reaching out with a little hand she felt tears spring hot and fast to her eyes which slowly spilled down her grey cheeks.

"What do I do?"

She asked the lifeless statue meekly, gasping and sniffing.

"Please...tell me what I should do."

Fehn continued to plead pathetically until her tears finally stopped. Puffy-eyed and hiccuping tragically, she turned away from the shrine, wiping the snot from her nose on her sleeve like a commoner. Taking two paces forward, she sniffed and looked up; her eyes widened as she was confronted by the image of a black-clad man with his hood obscuring his face and the rest hidden by shadow. Suspiciously the hooded man drew closer to Fehn. Backing up Fehn got a fright as the heels of her feet bumped into the shrine and then her back. Gulping, Fehn gasped as the man produced a dagger from his leather belt and growled, his voice muffled in the darkness of his hood,

"Give me your coin purse."

Fehn's tired face hardened. Shaking her head, she quickly tried to sidestep him, but he was fast and grabbed her thin wrist and pulled her back. Throwing her up against the shrine causing the candle to fall to the ground, her heart was thundering. Kicking the thief in the shin she bent over and bit down on his hand which was clamped tightly around her wrist. The thief let out a howl and bared his teeth, they were bright against the shadow being cast over his face.

"You little fool!"

With that he roughly slapped her causing Fehn to reel to the side of him and land with a dull thud on the golden foliage. Pain rocketed up her arm as she came down hard on it and she hissed in agony. Fehn barely had a moment to comprehend what was going before the thief snatched her satchel which held her gold and ran off into the distance. For a moment Fehn simply lay there in the grass - leaves drifted lazily in the light breeze and landed quietly around her as she panted. Her chest heaved up and down and she blinked slowly trying to make sense of her god-awful luck. With one final sigh, the Imperial slowly hauled herself to her feet and limped over to the shrine of Talos. Glaring up at the shrine, Fehn mocked, wantonly blasphemous,

"No devine intervention from you then, no?"

Shaking her head, she pushed herself away from the shrine and noticed the fallen candle. With a grunt, Fehn bent down and retrieved the still burning candle and placed it back at the shrine's feet. She stared at the candle for a moment and then suddenly from the darkness a guard appeared,

"Everything alright?"

He asked bleakly and Fehn nodded,

"Uh, yes. Just saying a prayer."

The guard cocked his head - his face was obscured by his helmet,

"To Talos? That's new for an Imperial."

Fehn gave him a thin smile and nodded again. So much for remaining inconspicuos. The guard nodded towards the shrine and motioned with a hand,

"You should say a prayer for those poor sodding children at the orphanage - Old Grelod keeps them in damp spirits."

Fehn's heart raced, but she tried to keep her face serene and her tone only slightly engaged,

"Oh? Oh, really, why is that?"

The guard shrugged and passed his torch from one hand to the other,

"She's not ever likely to let the little souls go. With all the upheaval in Skyrim, who's looking to adopt? And the Jarl gives the orphanage a daily ammount of gold - never goes to those kids though, Grelod the Kind's only kind to one thing and that's her throat - which is always parched. If you understand me. Those babes go around in rags and Grelod's always half-pissed by noon. Anyway, don't lollygag, it's getting late and these back roads are dangerous, come on, I'll lead you to the Bee and Barb - who knows, you might see Old Grelod in action tonight."

He finished with a snicker and nodded for him to follow her.


	40. Bribing Hands

Chapter XL - Bribing Hands

The Bee and Barb was by far the seediest tavern Fehn had ever had the displeasure of staying at. The patrons were all mead-swilling arse-slappers with not a thought to the poor whench's rumps they were hitting. Busty maids cavorted with grimy, bleary-eyed fishermen in dark corners and great hulking arm-wresteling brutes smoked their pipes and played cards, swearing oaths and raising a fist to anyone who even glanced at them cross-eyed. Fehn made her way through the smoky hall quietly with her head down and eyes to the floor - the last thing she wanted was a brawl. A purple bruise had formed at the side of her mouth from where the thief had smacked her back at the shrine, she had not mentioned her robbery to the guard, thinking it best to just keep that piece of information to herself. The only thing she didn't want, apart from a brawl, was a shiv in the night. Finally Fehn sat herself down and placed her pounding head down on the cool wood of the bar, the Argonian bar-keep, Keerava eyed her suspiciously,

"What happened to you? Oh, let me guess, you had a run-in with the law? Figures, you look like trouble, raven-head."

Silently Fehn looked up, blinking at the Argonian, she retorted acidly,

"No, I just had my first mugging, you...lizard."

Keerava rasped a strange wheezing sound which Fehn thought was laughter. Wiping down the bar, the Argonian said spitefully,

"Well I hope the 'Big Bad Robber' didn't take all your gold, you owe me ten septims!"

Fehn rolled her eyes,

"Yes, yes...you'll get your money,"

The Argonian looked smug, but her expression faded when Fehn flashed her a wolfish grin,

"When I can afford it."

Keerava's eyes narrowed and Fehn saw her spiny tale swish behind her. Suddenly the Argonian barked angrily,

"Talen! Talen, come here!"

Fehn's heart sank as the bigger Argonian - the male - Talen poked his head out of the pantry and looked for Keerava. His bright golden eyes eventually managed to find her and he nodded as if to say, "What?" and Keerava pointed an equally spiny claw at Fehn and fumed,

"The little raven-head's got no money to pay us! Kick her out and throw her in the canal!"

Talen's expression was unreadable, but the shrinking of his shoulders indicated to Fehn that he wasn't as versed to "throwing people in the canal" as Keerava was making out. Throwing the more amicable Argonian a pleading look, Fehn widened her eyes and silently begged him not to throw her out. The yellow-haired Argonian quickly shot a look of uneasiness to both Fehn and Keerava before shrugging his shoulders and emerging fully from the pantry. Fehn felt her panic rise, if she was kicked out of the Bee and Barb she would have to beg a room at the Bunkhouse and it was quickly learned by her that when one had no money to pay for a room at the Bunkhouse, a woman would have to sell what man would buy - and Fehn would have absolutely no part in that. As Fehn watched as Talen made his way through the room to kick her out, she felt a large man press up against her shoulder and lean over her and say quietly to Keerava,

"I'll pay the difference, Keerava - put it on my tab."

The Argonian looked from Fehn to the man suspicioulsy before scooping up the rag she was using to wipe the bar with,

"Oh, alright, fine, Brynjolf! But she's out of here tomorrow!"

At the mention of his name, Fehn turned and eyed Brynjolf - she recognised him as the man who had presumed with her in the market place the other day. Glaring at him, she watched as he winked at Keerava and smile roguishly at the Argonian.

"And I suppose you think you are incredibly noble?"

Fehn spat coldly to the red-headed man. His expression was one of mock confusion as he looked at her, taking a swig of his mead, he leaned in a little closer and said,

"Let me get you a drink - you look like you need it. Keerava! Get me a mead and this one an ale, we'll be sitting over there."

Turning an eye on her, he nodded with his head towards a more private and secluded seat,

"This way."

The big man lead the way and Fehn sloped along after him. She was not at all surprised or flattered when he pulled out a chair for her and allowed her to sit first, in fact, she found it completely sleazy and had to wonder just what she would have to pay for the 'kindness' Brynjolf had shown by intervening with Keerava and Talen. He sat opposite her and eyed her like a horse master who might look over a filly he was thinking of purchasing. They waited until Talen had brought over their drinks before they began speaking. More out of paranoia than anything, Fehn sniffed her ale before sipping it. Brynjolf smiled his handsome smile as he noticed her doing this and stipulated in an almost kind voice,

"You don't have to worry about me lacing your drink, lass. You're hardly my type. I like tall...beautiful women."

Unabashed, Fehn took a bigger swig which filled her cheeks like two fleshy balloons, raising her eyebrows, she widened her eyes and nodded before swallowing the cool drink.

"Good luck finding such a paragon in this skeever-hole of a city."

Brynjolf laughed and leaned back on his chair, pointing a finger at her carelessly, he said,

"Oh, but one has only to look, lass. This town's ripe with all sorts of trinkets and treasures - one has only to look, as I said."

Fehn nodded again and mirrored his swaggery appearance and leaned back in her own chair, cocking an eyebrow at him, she asked,

"So, Brynjolf, is it? What's your game? Seen you twice in as many days, one day your talking about my wealth and the next your flashing your own just as I've lost mine. Strange coincidence, eh?"

At that the Nord laughed and slapped his leg, leaning over his mead, he purred provocatively,

"Well, my, my - you're sharp as a nail, lass. And here I thought you were just a bit of common skirt."

Fehn nodded and accepted his compliment - it was crucial that Brynjolf didn't realise that her outward appearance was a complete sham and that she was indeed exceptionally frightened of the buggery and violence which seemed to spew from every nook and cranny in this foul city. Flicking his gaze up and down, Brynjolf eyed her again and released a breath,

"Another one?"

Fehn saluted him with her now empty flagon and nodded,

"Yes, go for it."

At that, Brynjolf signalled to Talen for another round and returned his attention to Fehn.

"So, maybe you should think about running a little job for me."

Fehn's eyes widened and she laughed. Seeing his expression, Fehn was taken aback to realise that he was deadly serious and stifled her laughter as Talen poured them more mead and ale. Brynjolf nodded his thanks to the Argonian and sat back while watching her over the rim of his flagon,

"What do you say?"

Fehn smiled and shook her head,

"A job? Didn't you hear me when I said that I can't even walk through the city without getting a mugging - I'm probably not your best candidate."

Brynjolf nodded and agreed,

"Well, yes, you are a bit of a shambles - but it seems almost perfect, eh? You need money - and I want money. Ambition is such a rare quality, and to see one with so much of it without the usual price tag of arrogance is a bloody good find, lass."

Fehn giggled airily and took another swig of her ale.

"Alright, so, what's the price of this 'job' and what do I have to do?"

Brynjold averted his gaze and shrugged as he thought,

"You'll get half of what I earn and in my line of work extra hands are well paid."

Fehn's eyes narrowed and she leaned in slightly,

"And your line of work is...?"

His gaze was steadfast,

"Larceny."

He said simply and Fehn let out a cackle and slapped her hand on the table,

"I knew it! You have the same stink as that fellow I encountered back at the shrine. I'm sorry, but no, I'm no thief."

Brynjolf wasn't to be shaken easily.

"Now, wait, hold on...you wouldn't be 'stealing' per say, you would be...'planting'."

Fehn's brow twitched and she querried,

"'Planting'?"

Brynjolf nodded and said temptingly,

"Yes, yes. No stealing for you...well, you would have to steal _one_ thing - the thing that you'll be planting on Brand-Shei."

He nodded towards a Dark-Elf who was seated at the bar behind Fehn, turning, she eyed the elf and shrugged,

"So, what've you got against him?"

Brynjolf shook his head,

"It's not what I've got against him. We've been contracted to simply get Brand-Shei out of business for awhile, now, since we're not the Brotherhood, killing him is not an option. We're just going to make sure he sleeps rough in the dungeons for a few days."

Fehn's expression was skeptical. Taking another swig of her ale, she poured herself another and helped herself to a sweetroll on the table,

"I take it these'll be free, since you're...interviewing me?"

Brynjolf smiled tightly and leaned back,

"So, what do you say? Sound like a fair scam?"

Fehn chewed like a barbarion and licked her chops in the most undignified way she could and smiled - revealing her white teeth which were now covered in jam and cream from the sweetroll.

"Nothing's fair in this city - but I need to make coin, I won't be here for very much longer. I have...engagements elsewhere. I'll help you with your scam, as long as you give me enough to get away from Riften? Deal?"

Brynjolf flashed a smile at her and held up his flagon,

"Deal."

With that they smashed their flagons off one another and took two big long draughts. Wiping her mouth, Fehn asked,

"So when does this kick off then?"

Brynjolf cocked his eyebrows and said,

"I'll be in the market from eight in the morning to eight at night - best to wait for a bit of nightfall, so make it about six o'clock before you show up. I'll cause a distraction while you break into Modesi's strongbox and steal...I mean 'borrow' his silver ring. Once you have that, I want you to plant it in Brand-Shei's pocket. Sound simple enough?"

Fehn nodded and tapped her fingers off the table,

"Yes, that sounds easy enough. And then you'll pay me?"

Brynjolf smiled again and soothed her,

"Don't worry, you'll get your pay."

Fehn shrinked a little as he eyed her a little closer and flirted,

"And you would be surprised just how much taller and beautiful folk look when they have a fat coin purse."

Fehn gave him a furious glare and snapped,

"You would not be surprised to find that men tend to lose control of their brains while their equipment is hard."

Brynjolf grinned and leaned forward,

"You know, if you pulled in that waist and showed us a bit of leg - you'd actually look like a woman. Throw on a gown and some petticoats and you'd find a warm welcome in my bed."

Fehn rolled her eyes and got to her feet. Glaring down at him, she sniffed grandly,

"Oh how I swoon at the thought."

Fehn was utterly annoyed when he simply winked and smiled up at her charmingly. He laughed like a boy as she stormed off up to her room leaving him alone at the little table thar was still laden with ale and sweetrolls.


	41. A Life So Stolen

Chapter XLI - A Life So Stolen

_You're coming to us. _

_Fehn's eyes snapped open and she felt coils of darkness wrap themselves rudely and constrictingly around her wrists and ankles. Panic surged through her chest and she bucked her legs uselessly in an attempt to free herself. Suddenly from the darkness, a figure emerged; his eyes blazed like heated coals and his mouth was smiling. Clear drool plunged from his maw like a slobbery waterfall - his filthy fangs glistened with spit. Fehn had to fight back her feeling of terror as the monster allowed his swollen, ulcer-ridden tongue to loll out of his dripping mouth and hang out from the side. Fear had Fehn in its toils now, she blanched and watched paralized as the abomination as quietly as a feather flaoting on the wind came up before her and whispered in a familiar hiss,_

_It's nearly time. Time to whet your appetite for carnage, for blood. The pain does not need to be absolute, it can end. Fulfill the contract bound in blood, Mother will be pleased._

_Fehn frowned and snapped,_

_What? Who's 'Mother'? What in Oblivion are you talking about? Just stop, already!"_

_The monster laughed and ran an ebony claw along her cheek, tracing her scar. Fehn screamed in agony as the pain of the wound which had given her the scar was renewed, thrashing her arms and legs, she swore an oath as tears sprung to her rolling eyes._

_The contract...you will fulfill it tonight, you will do our Father's will and earn your Mother's blessing. Sleep now and listen for her coming, she will guide your blade along the throats of those who have been given a kiss from our sweet, sweet Mother._

Fehn awoke at dawn feeling more haggard and ill than ever before. With a heavy sigh, the Imperial dragged herself from her hay-filled mattress that lay on the floor and hobbled over to the cracked mirror on the wall. Catching a glimpse of herself, Fehn felt even more sick; her skin was white, whiter than salt and her lips had an actual tinge of blue to them. Her eyes were red-rimmed and underneath them were purple circles. Tossing her head Fehn gasped and reeled back from her image, her breath came short and she traced her fingers along her scar; it was sore to the touch. Throwing herself forward, she leaned up close against the glass and inspected her cheek, the scar which she had received years ago on account of her brother, Luca's, stupidity had some how become as fresh as if it had happened a day ago. The skin was red and agitated. Where his blade had connected with her flesh all those years ago was split open with a fine, fine layer of scabbing keeping her blood from spilling down her face. Taking a deep breath, Fehn uttered to her countenance in the mirror,

"This is impossible..."

There was a knock at the door and without waiting for Fehn to shout "enter" Keerava barged in. Fehn spun on her heel and frowned at the Argonian, locking eyes with the reptillian woman, Fehn's eyes darkened,

"What is the point of knocking if you will not wait for me to allow you to come in?"

Keerava shrugged and retorted,

"My inn, my rules."

Fehn nodded and turned her face away, the Argonian observed cooly,

"You look like crap. Looks like you have Ataxia! Wouldn't surprise me, your the sort of people that scurry around that Ratway,"

With that Fehn turned a hard eye on the inn keeper, Keerava continued in a smug voice,

"Hmph, I wasn't surprised to see you in the bar last night cosying up to Brynjolf - the man's got money but no taste. Little sluts from the Capital are not welcome at my house, maybe Haelga could put you up - the Eight know she needs a better looking tramp than that fool, Svanna."

The Argonian started as Fehn turned and exclaimed,

"Oh, enough! I'll be getting your money tonight, so would you just shut up and get me some bread and ale, please. And by the Eight, Keerava, if the bread's stale or the ale flat you'll not see a single septim from me, got it?"

The dangerous tone in her voice alerted Keerava, but the Argonian saved face and simply bowed her head and left to fetch what Fehn had asked for.

"Thank you."

Fehn breathed to herself exhasperated.

"What's your business here, Companion?"

Vilkas eyed the guard standing at the gates which lead into Riften. His arms were folded and he shifted his weight,

"I'm here looking for my...sister. She skipped town from Whiterun, I'm worried she may have ended up here."

The guard whistled and chuckled insensitively,

"Haha, you had better hope she did not. Young?"

Vilkas nodded,

"About nine and ten years, maybe more...Perhaps two scores, what do I know?"

The guard shrugged and said,

"You said she was your sister?"

Vilkas's jaw was set and he retorted carelessly,

"That doesn't mean I count her years, look, can I enter or not?"

The guard laughed and said,

"Sure, sure. Give Kodlak Whitemane the regards of all the guards in Riften. Does your sister have any stand-out features? I could tell some other guards to keep an eye out."

Vilkas nodded his head and scratched his stubbly chin,

"Well, she has long black hair, dark eyes, she's Imperial. Scar on her left cheek...small, quick and would punch you in the back in a heartbeat."

The guard was silent as he contemplated and as Vilkas edged past him to get into the city. Finally the guard laughed and said,

"Well the only place those qualities are looked for is down in the Ratway, Companion."

At that Vilkas stopped and looked back at the guard who uttered in a dangerous undertone,

"And you had better hope she's not been taken up with their likes, and if she has,"

He paused for effect and stared back at Vilkas,

"You better hope that you find her first."

It was mid afternoon and Fehn found herself lounging about in the courtyard round the back of the Temple of Mara. She sat peacfully and happily chewing a piece of bread and watching the geese arrow-head above her in the clear sky. She smiled thinly and tossed the rest of the bread for the lesser pigeons and got to her feet. It was a warm day, the sun was dull and the air was clammy, more golden leaves fell from the partially naked trees and Fehn let out a purr of pleasure as she stretched her arms up above her. Her wrists were still sore and her ankles pained her in minor, but her neck and head were pounding relentlessly with a fiery pain which made her want to scream and break something. She was startled by the sound of a twig breaking underfoot, reeling around, she whipped out her dagger and was poised, but when she turned her gaze fell on a dirty little urchin. She had brown hair and a pretty little face, her up-turned nose reminded Fehn of a piglet and her freckled cheeks screamed mischief. Sheathing her dagger and kneeling down to the little girl's level, Fehn asked pleasantly,

"Hello there, what's your name?"

The girl was silent and gazed down at her feet timidly. Fehn felt sorry for her and produced a green apple from her pouch. Holding it out to the girl, Fehn smiled encouragingly and nodded for the girl to take it. The urchin's face lit up and her freckled cheeks swelled like a hamsters, snatching the apple out of Fehn's hand, she happily chomped down on the fruit, allowing the juices to trickle down her chin. Fehn watched as the girl ate her fill - right down to the core - before asking,

"So, where's your mama?"

The girl stopped slurping at the apple and ducked her head, a shadow crossing her pretty face,

"I don't have a mama."

She replied simply and Fehn felt her stomach knot with pity. Moving closer, Fehn soothed,

"Oh, oh right. I'm sorry. D'you live with anyone? An uncle, or aunt?"

The girl shook her head.

"I'm one of Grelod's."

Fehn recoiled internally, but remained vigilant.

"Grelod, huh? What...Uh, what's she like? She's Grelod the Kind, yes?"

The child looked away and let the apple core fall to the ground. Taking a step forward, she looked at Fehn,

"She's horrible. We wake up at dawn, she makes us clean and cook, catch the rats, clean out the privvy, sweep out the chimneys, wash in the canal. I wish I could get away, but Grelod says we're not up for adoption, she says no-one will have us, says we're gutter-snipes. Aventus did the right thing...I wish I had been brave enough to follow him."

Fehn's eyes widened, staring rapt at the little girl, she leaned in closer still,

"Aventus?"

The little child nodded her head, she sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve,

"He left - ran away. Grelod was so angry, she beat us all...It was horrible. I miss him so much, he said he would find away to save us all, but I don't think he can, he lived in Windhelm and that's so very far away, he probably died and now I'll never get to tell him that we all miss him very much. Constance prays for him every night, I know, I've heard her. One time she let me sit next to her while she prayed to Kynareth for Aventus. I prayed too, only I..."

She trailed off and averted her innocent gaze.

"What did you pray for, sweeting?"

Fehn coaxed, and the girl turned and said to her,

"I prayed for Grelod to disappear."

The sun hung high in the sky as the people of Riften all milled around the marketplace. Brynjolf stood by his stall and gazed up at the sun, his hands on his hips. It was nearly time for him to start the job, but there was still no sign of his latest recruit. Swearing an oath, Brynjolf turned to Grelka and nodded,

"Grel, watch the stall for me, would you?"

The square-jawed Nord bobbed her head curtly and Brynjolf stomped off through the throng of buyers and browsers. Fehn kicked a stone along the pier of the canal, her thoughts racing furiously. She was so tired of this sickness that seemed to be attatched to her killing Grelod, she couldn't make any sense of her wierd nightmares, her very soul seemed to be being ripped apart by the contract she had made with the young boy, Aventus Aretino. She could still remember his voice,

_"It's you! You finally came! An assasin from the Dark Brotherhood...It's okay, you don't have to say anything, you're here; so I know you'll take my contract."_

She shook her head and tried to rid herself of the thought of Aventus's innocent and bright face as he contracted her to kill an old lady. Suddenly Fehn let out a yelp as her face collided with the bust of a woman,

"Oh, I'm sorry! Please..."

Fehn trailed off as the woman pushed her to her backside and spat coldly,

"What the devil do you think you are doing?! Well? Answer me, you fool!"

The old woman squawked loudly and her eyes blazed down on Fehn, while the Imperial simply lay there dumbstruck. Just as she was about to answer, the old woman's glare trailed past Fehn's head and fell on the little girl Fehn had spoken to earlier. Suddenly the old woman abandoned her tirade against Fehn and pointed a gnarled finger at the child,

"You! You little rat, get back in the home, or I'll fling you into the canal! Go on, scat, little _gutter-snipe_!"

Fehn closed her eyes and felt her very blood run ice-cold, her bones actually began to shake. From behind Grelod, a young Imperial woman emerged and eyed the scene. Motioning for the girl to come on, she cooed in a kind and inviting voice - her pretty face was filled with sympathy and understanding.

"Come on, Halti, come on."

Fehn watched as the little girl ran into the arms of the younger woman and past Grelod. The old woman was quick for her age and like a flash of lightning, slapped the little child on the back of the head as she passed her. Throwing the younger woman a glacier look, she shrugged and nodded for them to leave. Turning back to Fehn, she chuckled and hissed,

"Constance is too soft with those little brats! Anyway, thicko, you watch where you're walking down here - no one's too big for a slap in my book!"

Fehn's brow darkened and she nodded. Her neck positively blazed and she could feel her throat tightening. With a self satisfied nod, Grelod spun on her heel and left her alone on the dock. As Fehn watched the old woman scoot off, she was suddenly very aware that they were alone down on the lower tier of the city. Everyone else was up in their stalls or in the tavern, Fehn silently got to her feet and hooked a finger over the linen that obscured the scars on her neck. Wrapping the rough material around her fingers, Fehn gasped nervously, she could do it here, but the only problem was Constance and the girl. The Imperial woman and the child were only about twelve feet in front of Grelod - they'd surely hear a scuffle. A thought struck then, keeping the linen wrapped around her fingers, Fehn approached Grelod's turned back and tapped on her thin shoulder. She felt like vomitting as the old woman eyed her,

"What in Oblivion is it that you want? Can't you tell, I have a lot of discepline to instill?"

Taking a breath, Fehn squared her shoulders before asking in a mild-mannered tone,

"I was wondering if it may be possible for me to adopt?"

Brynjolf could feel his temper rising as time ticked on, casting his eager gaze back up to the sky - it was turning from blue to the dull pink of dusk - and he gnashed his teeth,

"When I get my hands on that..."

He let out a sigh and rubbed his chin, seeing Maul - Maven Black-Briar's brute - Brynjolf crooked a finger at him. The big man unfolded his arms and pushed himself off of the beam he was leaning on and swaggered over to Brynjolf. Lifting his chin, Maul cocked a bushy black eyebrow and enquired,

"Yeah, what is it, Bryn?"

Leaning in closer, Brynjolf asked in a clandestine tone,

"Maul, have you seen that bit that we tried to con at the gate the other night?"

Maul averted his gaze as he thought. Brynjold watched him raptly and impatiently before the big man shook his head no. With that Brynjolf ran his fingers through his hair and let out a frustrated breath, tapping Maul's arm, Brynjolf thanked him without looking at him before rushing off back into the thinning market crowd. Just as Brynjolf was about to turn in to the stairs which lead down to the lower tier, his gaze met with Vilkas's. The two men eyed eachother like a pair of lions, Vilkas folded his arms and Brynjolf placed his hands on his hips and smiled wryly,

"Companion."

Brynjolf greeted blandly. Vilkas didn't have time to bandy with him and gripped the man's arm. Thrusting him into the wall so that they were obscured from the people coming in an out of the market, Vilkas held a meaty forearm over Brynjolf's throat and pinned him there. Brynjolf didn't resist, he simply smiled and asked playfully,

"Now, now, dog. There's got to be a better way to greet people back in Whiterun, eh?"

Vilkas pressed down a little and snapped,

"Shut up, Brynjolf! I know you know everything that goes on in this town and if you don't want me to dump you in the canal and let the slaughterfish have you, you'll listen to what I have to say!"

With a nod, Brynjolf conceded and said in a buisness-like voice,

"Alright, down boy. What is it you want to know? Make it quick, I have a stall to run, y'know."

Vilkas snorted and nodded,

"Aye and I'm a golden-haired girl from Solitude."

"Wouldn't be a bad look, Vil."

Brynjolf's joking earned him another dose of pressure on his throat. He spluttered and Vilkas sneered dangerously,

"One more, Brynjolf, and I run you through. I'm looking for someone - a girl."

Brynjolf fought the urge to make another snarky comment, a smile tugged at his lips and Vilkas sighed exhasperated and returned his brooding gaze to Brynjolf,

"I'm looking for a girl about yon height,"

He motioned with his unoccupied hand and said,

"Dark hair, scar on her left cheek, brown eyes - she's Imperial. And she's got a mouth on her, heard or seen anything of the sort?"

An image of the whelp from the night before appeared in Brynjolf's mind, he eyed Vilkas and hoped that his expression didn't betray his words. Shaking his head, he shrugged his broad shoulders carelessly,

"Nope, haven't seen anything like that, have you tried the Bunkhouse? If she's pretty enough, she may even be there waiting for you in a nice dress."

With that Vilkas punched the Nord in the gut and let him crumble on the steps,

"You're a real bastard, and once I find the bastard I'm looking for - I'm coming back for you."

Brynjolf smiled and wheezed as Vilkas stamped off through the higher tier off towards the Bee and Barb.

"Happy hunting!"

Getting to his feet, Brynjolf glared after Vilkas and wiped his chin and mouth. Smoothing down his fine clothes and regaining his composture, Brynjolf swore and resumed his search for the girl, stealing away down the steps, he now had to find her before Vilkas did.

"What? No! Of course those putrid little skeevers aren't up for adoption! Why the hell would you want a kid anyway? You look like you can barely take care of yourself."

Fehn gawped like a fish and stared around the old lady and saw that Constance and the child had finally got to the slippery green steps which lead up to Honour Hall, returning her gaze to Grelod, Fehn shrugged and smiled her falsest smile, the smile she used to bestow on lords and ladies at the court. Shaking her head, her plastic smile still slathered on her face, she held up her hands and said,

"Uh, yes, yes...You're right, I-I'm a mess. I was just wondering for my...sister, she was wanting to adopt."

With that, Grelod rolled her eyes and turned her back on Fehn.

"What an idiot."

The old woman mumbled as she scurried off towards the orphanage. Fehn peered over Grelod's gray head and saw that Constance and Halti were nowhere to be seen. Narrowing her eyes, she stalked up behind Grelod, pulling the linen tightly in both hands, she breathed slowly and carefully as she approached Grelod's turned back for a second time. The last time. The linen hooked over Grelod's head like a noose, the old woman let out a squawk of annoyance which quickly turned into a gurgle of fear as Fehn pulled back on the linen which was usually wrapped around her neck. Fehn's arms pulsated as she held the linen in place over Grelod's old neck, the Nord clawed at the air and flailed her thin arms uselessly before they hung limp at her side and her thin body slumped back and rested in Fehn's arms. Grelod the Kind was dead, and Fehn had fulfilled her contract.

Lying back panting, Fehn let out a cry. She slumped over Grelod's corpse and cried as the pain in her neck, wrists and ankles receded and she felt warmth creep into her bones again. Her eyes widened as she stared down at her hands which were actually returning to colour, the whiteness of her skin began to slowly blend back to a tanned brown. Fehn smiled as the familiar feeling of fatigue also dulled and she felt a surge of life course through her veins once more, tipping her head back, she looked up at the pink and yellow sky as a tear rolled out the side of her eye and a voice hissed in her mind,

_Welcome, child of Sithis._


	42. The Deals You Make

Chapter XLII - The Deals You Make

Time had stood still; the world bathed in the pearly light of Fehn's Shout,

"Tiid."

She uttered in a whisper. Everything froze, the canal thickly bubbled past, and the shouts from the market became long and low moans. Fehn caught a breath as she hoisted Grelod's lifeless corpse up on to her chest. Heaving the old woman to the side of the dock, Fehn grunted as she tipped the body over the wooden beam and watched as Grelod's body slowly, so slowly, began to sink. The shine of Fehn's Shout was beginning to dull. Swearing an oath, Fehn's eyes raked the area for a rock, or something weighted; she nodded and grinned when she spotted a big slab of rock sat by one of the little apothocary's doors and gripped the rough stone tightly. Just as time began to flow normally again, Fehn held the slab of stone aloft over her head and threw it at Grelod's partially-sank body. The stone struck her floating corpse, square in the stomach, just as time snapped back and resumed a regular flow. Fehn grimaced as the stone struck Grelod's body made a resounding smack before pushing her body down into the depths of the murky canal. Fehn sighed as she wiped her glistening forehead, throwing her gaze up to the sky, she gasped; it was nearly nightfall and she had to be at the market. With that, she walked purpousfully but not suspiciously, her hands embedded in the pockets of her breeches.

_"What have I done? I'm a murderer...a real murderer, oh gods, I hope no one finds the body til' I'm out of Riften."_

Her mind raced as she ploughed along the slippery docks unseeing. Just as she got to the end of the walk, she saw Brynjolf looking dishevelled and agitated. When his eyes locked in on her, he threw himself forward and gripped her wrist,

"Where in Oblivion have you been?"

Fehn's eyes narrowed and she slipped her hand free of his big paw,

"I-I was busy...sorry I'm late. Are you mad?"

Brynjolf let out a sigh and threw his head back laughing. Fehn watched as his adam's apple jumped up and down in his mirth and shuffled slightly,

"'Mad'? No, lass, but your pay's just been docked fifty septims for your lateness. Now, come on, get up there and remember, no ring, no pay."

The market crowd had thinned substantially and people were beginning to return to their manors, hovels and night-jobs. Fehn felt an inch tall as Brynjolf led her through the market like a horse master might lead a donkey through the fair. Fear began to gnaw at Fehn's heart and without thinking, she turned and asked Brynjolf meekly,

"How am I supposed to do all of this?"

Brynjolf frowned and spat,

"Am I to hold your hand through all of this? You obviously just keep on your toes, I'll create a distraction and you go'n get Modesi's silver ring from his strong box."

Fehn was unsure. Turning away, her feet began to drag and she felt Brynjolf push her on farther still,

"Once you have the ring, it's simply a matter of placing it discreetly into Brand-Shei's pocket. What could be easier?"

Hearing her shuddering breath, Brynjolf swore under his breath and gripped Fehn's arm - just at her elbow - and spun her roughly around and pinned her to the rear wall of the Bee and Barb. Fehn gasped and tried to move her right hand, but Brynjolf held it in place, his big form covering Fehn from view and his other hand leaned carelessly over her head, his face was close to hers,

"Look, I took you on for a job, if you get caught, it's your arse. Understand?"

Fehn frowned and began to argue, but Brynjolf simply pressed down on her more and hissed,

"Seriously, who do you think they'd believe? A damn Imperial or a Nord? It's folly to even think about it - you know the answer."

Fehn's eyes were blazing, bearing her teeth, she snarled in return,

"I'll go to the guards, then!"

"No you won't."

Brynjolf stated flatly, a grin tugging at his mouth.

"You won't go to the guards, you've already got a bounty on your head it seems, in Whiterun. You're desperate, that's why you need the coin to get out of Riften."

Fehn's brow twitched with annoyance. Her own confusion began to show on her face,

"A bounty in Whiterun? What're you talking about?"

Brynjolf nodded and smiled knowingly,

"Don't take the rag with me, lass. Now, in a few minutes I'm going to start the distraction, it's your job to ensure that this all goes smoothly."

Fehn shook her head angrily causing Brynjolf to slam his hand down on the wood of the wall. Fehn was silent as he said with a quiet, frightening anger,

"Look, you just do as your told. You'll find that Imperial stock is not so reliant these days, and easily missed."

At that Fehn nodded and took a breath to steady herself,

"Alright...Alright! I'll do it. I'll get Modesi's stupid ring and plant it on Brand-Shei - just don't falter with the distraction then, got it."

Brynjolf bowed his head and moved back a little,

"Good lass,"

He said with a false smile and allowed her to pass him unscathed. Just as Fehn was about to slip into the crowd, she felt Brynjolf brush behind her and smack her rump.

"Break a leg."

He said intently as he rushed off to begin their scam.

"Ah, finally you're back! Gods, Brynjolf, I've been watching your damn stall all day - you owe me!"

Brynjolf raised his eyebrows and waved a hand to Grelka, her face was like thunder as he clambered back into his stall.

"I'll do the same for you one day, Grel, if you ever get any business."

Grelka huffed and returned to her own empty stall and sighed at her lack of business, gazing enviously over to Brynjolf and Modesi's stalls. The crowd was a slow and lazy one, not the frantic buyers that Fehn had encountered in Whiterun. Gazing over the wares of the various stalls, she stopped at Brand-Shei's and appraised his wares. The Dark Elf watched her curiously, and Fehn pointed to a jewelled amulet and enquired,

"How much?"

The Dunmer's eyes flashed and his mouth spread into a wide and charming grin,

"Well, this piece..."

He began in a determind voice, Fehn nodded and feigned interest in the amulet until she heard Brynjolf's voice from across the square,

"People! People of Riften, gather round, I have something amazing to show you!"

His summons were aswered by a few curious buyers, Fehn started as Brand-Shei sighed audibly.

"Are you alright?"

Fehn asked and the Dunmer shrugged defeated,

"Oh, that Brynjolf. He's always dragging everyone over to his stall with his 'miracle' cures, I think the last one was 'Dragon's Bone Potion' something to cure sore bones or other, I don't know. But what I do know is that his cures never work. He's a fraud, but there's nothing any one of us can do - he's in good with them folk down in the Ratway."

Fehn nodded her head and rubbed her cheek absently,

"That must be annoying."

Brand-Shei nodded his head, keeping his eyes on Brynjolf,

"It is that, stranger. Uh, I had better go over and see what the commotion is. Unless you want to buy that amulet now?"

Fehn shook her head and waved her hands,

"No, no! You should go over, I mean, you don't want him stealing any more custom, especially if he's actually on to something with _this_ cure..."

She lied quickly and Brand-Shei nodded his head in agreement,

"My thoughts exactly! Thank you!"

Fehn smiled and nodded as the Dark Elf rushed off to join the commotion and listen to Brynjolf's pitch. With a sigh, Fehn's shoulders slumped; collecting herself, her head turned in the direction of Modesi's jewelry stall. As her gaze narrowed and she watched the Argonian slide away from his golden necklaces and bracelets, she let out a breath and made her way over to the now unoccupied stall. As she blended into the crowd which was growing around Brynjolf, she caught his eye and he nodded very slightly for her to continue. She returned his nod and ducked down behind a fat Nord who was standing in amongst the crowd. The stink of the congested city was catching in Fehn's throat and causing her to gag. Pushing it aside, she managed to make her way around Modesi's stall and crouch down before the sliding door which protected the strongbox which held his ring. Her fingers trembled as she picked the lock, her teeth ground down each time one of the flimsy picks broke, making her click her tongue and shake her head in annoyance. She grinned like a jackal when she heard the satisfying click of the lock being opened.

Her chest tightened when she heard a guard walking around the little wall that she was being obscured by,

"Brynjolf and another one of his cures, bah!"

Said the guard to an unseen listener. Ignoring them, Fehn gently prized the sliding door along and peered inside, her heart sank when she realised that the strongbox was locked too,

"Paranoid lizard."

She hissed under her breath and began to pick the lock.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Falmer Blood Elixer!"

The crowd "ooh'd" as the Nord held up the intricate bottle to show them. Brynjolf smiled charmingly and nodded temptingly. His selling spell was broken when a voice rang out from the crowd,

"Oh, come on, Brynjolf! 'Falmer Blood Elixer'? What next, 'Troll Fat Salve'?"

There was silence.

"Actually, Brand-Shei,"

Began Brynjolf with a nod,

"There is already such a thing as Troll Fat Salve. You can get it at probably any apothocarys. Anyway..."

With Brand-Shei put down, Brynjolf continued selling his elixer. Finally Fehn let out a quiet squeal of delight as she managed to pick the lock and the strongbox opened revealing the thing she had been looking for; Modesi's silver ring. Plucking the ring from its box, Fehn left the garnets and gold which were also in the box before closing it over and sliding the stall door back into place. Fehn's heart was racing as she got to her feet and straightened her shirt. Casting her gaze over the rapt crowd, she spotted Brand-Shei sitting with his arms folded looking surely on a barrell. The Imperial's eyes widened as her they drifted from Brand-Shei to a familiar face; Vilkas. Gasping, Fehn breathed,

"Vilkas? What in Oblivion...?"

She shook her head and ducked down, remaining true, she proceeded to plant the ring in Brand-Shei's unsuspecting pocket. Weaving her way in and out of the people, Fehn could feel the people's interest dwindling on Brynjolf; she was running out of time.

"No, no. This is not just any elixer, this amazing concotion actually slows down the aging process. How about it, ladies, no more of those troublesome wrinkles. Or for the gentlemen, no more...faults in the bedchamber, well, depending on how late in life you take it, eh?"

He winked provocatively at them as they chuckled, they were on the cusp of throwing themselves forward and jumping on him for a sale. Brynjolf could feel his own forehead begin to glisten as he noticed Vilkas in the crowd.

"Uh-Y-you, sir! Would you not try some? Just a demonstration, free of charge?"

The crowd followed his finger and it was pointed at Vilkas. Fehn stopped dead in her tracks and held her breath, the silence was poingant. Turning his icy strare on Brynjolf, Vilkas shook his head and waved him away, but the few precious moments Brynjolf had bought Fehn were invaluable and she managed to get close enough to Brand-Shei to slip the ring into his pocket. Breathing a sigh of relief, Fehn moved quite a bit away from the Dunmer before she straightened herself and stood upright, she gasped as she felt a hand grip her arm,

"Well, well..."

The familiar voice said sternly and Fehn turned to see Vilkas's eyes boring into her.

"Lead me on a merry quest, you have. What the devil were you thinking?"

Fehn could feel her temper fraying,

"What was I thinking? You're the one who called me a tool of war, the one who said I only came to you fools for protection! What do you want from me Vilkas?"

She flinched as he pulled her in closer and dragged her through the throng of people, a few of them gave Vilkas and Fehn dark looks, but mostly they were ignored as they pushed their way through. Pulling her down to the little bridge just outside of the Bee and Barb, Vilkas stopped and pushed Fehn down on the bench and leaned over her, his hands on the railing behind her head and his nose mere inches from hers,

"So,"

He started with a pleasant smile which was more unsettling than a crypt full of Draugre,

"How've we been?"

He asked with such intensity in his eyes that Fehn actually shirked and replied in a small voice,

"Oh, fine...Just fine."

Vilkas nodded, needing all of his self-control to keep his temper in check, but there was a vein throbbing in his forehead,

"What have you been doing this past week? Anything nice?"

Fehn was about to answer when Brynjolf appeared behind Vilkas and smiled. Without turning, Vilkas gripped the railing and gritted his teeth as he guessed correctly,

"Anything nice like...larceny?"

Fehn flashed him a contrite smile and shrugged her shoulders,

"Only to pay for my carriage back to Whiterun and to pay for my room."

Vilkas's eyes were blazing as Brynjolf cut in like a hot knife through butter,

"And she did it beautifully, Vil. Just watched Brand-Shei get huckled and dragged off to the keep for being the thieving little bastard he is! Ha! So, here's your half, lass - minus what you got docked for the lateness. Or should I give it to you, Vilkas? Since you seem to be calling the shots?"

He chuckled throatily as he held a big fat coinpurse in his hand. Catching Vilkas's eye, Fehn shook her head and placed a cool hand on his forearm before extending her hand to Brynjolf to take her coinpurse,

"Thank you, Brynjolf."

The Nord nodded and said,

"No problem, lass,"

He turned and walked towards the Bee and Barb,

"Oh, I never did catch your name."

Fehn opened her mouth but Vilkas quickly cut her off by whipping around to face Brynjolf. Turning back to Fehn, he commanded promptly,

"Don't you gve him your name."

He turned back to Brynjolf - who was grinning slyly,

"You don't need to know her name - she's never going to be talking to you again!"

Brynjolf looked past Vilkas and at Fehn, pointing a finger at the panting Nord, he stirred,

"The thing about men like Vilkas, lass, their very..._possesive_ of their chewing toys, you get me?"

Fehn's brow furrowed, her confusion was short-lived and quickly replaced by blind panic as Vilkas threw himself at Brynjolf.

"I'll kill you!"

Grabbing the big man, Fehn shouted over the din,

"Come on, Vilkas, move it! Lets go, come on!"

As she dragged him away towards the gate, Brynjolf smiled and waved a hand at them,

"Stay in touch, lass. Bye Vilkas!"

With another laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, Brynjolf turned and went in to the Bee and Barb, leaving Fehn to drag Vilkas out to the stables to get the carriage back to Whiterun.


	43. Reconciliation

Chapter XLIII - Reconciliation

The cold air sank in deep to Vilkas and Fehn's bones as they trundled along in the cart on their way back to Whiterun from Riften. Vilkas had been quiet and brooding, while Fehn looked out over the landscape - simply happy that her macabre aches had finally dulled. It was hours into their jouney when Vilkas finally snapped,

"What were you thinking, coming to Riften? D'you have any idea just how dangerous this Hold is?"

Fehn's shoulders shrugged carelessly and she replied spitefully,

"What d'you care? I know the only reason you're here to get me is so I can pay my stupid debt - which I intend to do when we get back. Then, I'll be out of your hair."

Jingelling the coin purse Brynjolf had given her, she flashed a fake smile at him. Vilkas was not fazed by her frankness and nodded, rubbing his bristly chin, he leaned forward and snatched the coin purse from her. Fehn shrieked and clawed for the purse,

"Give that back!"

"So you have no interest in becoming a Companion?"

Fehn's eyes darted over to him, holding out both hands, she frowned confused,

"Wait, I thought..."

With a wave of his hand and a click of his tongue, Vilkas silenced her,

"You may do in my nut, Fehn, but you are under Stormcloak command to be trained up - the Nord way. You may also, not-be-completely-useless-in-a-fight."

At that Fehn's eyes brightened but she knew better than to call out Vilkas and held her peace. An awkward pause ensued and Fehn rubbed her hands absently, averting her eyes, she asked Vilkas,

"Why did you let Brynjolf get to you?"

At first Fehn thought that he didn't hear her, but when she finally looked up, she saw that Vilkas was staring over the misty hills and balling his fists in anger. She was about to abandon the topic when Vilkas muttered darkly,

"He stands for everything I hate in a person; honourless, talentless - save for trouble. Spineless and without respect for his betters, no real passion other than coin, his respinsibilities are nought, he is a pathetic excuse for a man, and one that I have no time for."

Bobbing her head, Fehn stared over to Vilkas. Catching his eye, she said in an apologetic tone,

"I swear I didn't steal for personal gain - and the scam that I helped him with...On my honour, I had very little wiggle room, y'know?"

Fehn nearly toppled out of the cart when a smile spread across Vilkas's rugged features. She was dumbstruck as he clapped her affectionately on the shoulder and said,

"At least you have honour."

Returning his smile, they remained in comfortable silence for the remainder of their journey - only talking in one-word sentences - until they stood at the stables of Whiterun. Fehn paid the carriage driver, who tipped his little cap and nodded to the both of them. Taking a breath before entering the city, Fehn asked Vilkas a little quietly,

"Vilkas, d'you think I was missed badly? D'you think Kodlak or Ulfric will be angry?"

Vilkas straightened himself up and looked down at her, sunlight was bouncing off of his steel armour and blinding Fehn, but she kept her gaze on him as he replied,

"Oh, I forgot to mention that Kodlak covered for you. Said that I was taking you out to the Tundra to give you a more 'hands on' tutelage. I think the only one you'll have to worry about is Hulda - she knew there was something amiss before I even left. She doesn't miss a trick, does ol' Hulda."

Fehn nodded her head and tried to steady herself, her attention returned to Vilkas when he said,

"You actually look better for being gone anyway, so most people will assume it has done you good - so no one can complain, really. Apart from the fact it was big time waste...for me, mostly."

At that Fehn leaned in closer and stood on the balls of her feet, she was still barely at Vilkas's elbow, but she smiled up charmingly and purred sarcastically,

"Oh, you don't mean that...You know that you need me, I am your sword-brother-"

"_Shield-sister_."

He corrected her promplty, and turned before she could go on,

"And when I said you weren't completely useless in a fight, I meant you fight like a weasel. All quick and nimble, we'll soon batter some more honourable tactics into you."

Grasping the hilt of the sword at his hip, Vilkas went on ahead, leaving Fehn standing alone by the gates huffing. The city of Whiterun was a welcome change from Riften in Fehn's opinion, here the air was fresh, and people didn't walk around with knives and daggers at their belts. Breathing in the clean air, Fehn smiled to herself, it was good to be somewhere akin to home, she thought. Her welcome back to the Bannered Mare could not have been more perfect, Hulda scalded Fehn for being too thin before pulling the slight Imperial into a huge embrace, then another round of scalding for not even leaving a note telling the elder Nord where she had been. Fehn smiled as Hulda bustled around and shouted at Saadia to fetch Fehn and Vilkas some mead and ale,

"So, child, tell me, what in Oblivion have you been doing with yourself - I've been worried sick."

Fehn glanced at her sheepishly and uttered,

"Sorry, Hulda...I just had to go off and..."

She trailed off and peered over to Vilkas for help, but the big Nord man had his tail firmly between his legs and shook his head as he drank deep from his tankard. Fehn shook her head and narrowed her eyes at him for his cowardice before turning back to Hulda and lying in a breezy tone,

"I was in the tundra with Vilkas here. I'm training to be a Companion and a better swords-woman."

Hulda's eyes darted from Vilkas and his weak attempt at pretending he was not there, to Fehn's fake bright smile and nodding head. Leaning closer to Fehn, Hulda patted the girl's hand gently,

"Alright, child. If your unwilling to tell, then it must have been important, but next time...at least scribble a note, anything! Alright?"

Fehn smiled and nodded to the old inn keeper, Hulda returned the smile and pinched Fehn's sheek softly before shuffling off to clean the bar and serve Torvar what could only be his sixth round in the half hour that Fehn had been back in the Bannered Mare.

"Oh!"

Hulda exclaimed throwing her hands in the air, she turned and said to Fehn,

"I didn't rent out your room, Fehn, you're welcome to take it up again."

Fehh dipped her head and smiled at Hulda,

"I'd be delighted to be your established tenent again, Mistress Hulda."

After their drinks and a hearty dinner, Fehn and Vilkas made their way out of the Bannered Mare. Walking slowly through the Plains District, they watched as the people began to shut up their stalls and return home for their dinners. Vilkas turned and said in a quiet voice,

"I'll let Kodlak know that your choosing to take up residence with Hulda - at least that way we don't have to worry about you getting fed. What was wrong with you anyway? You looked sick now you're right as rain?"

Fehn felt her heart wrench with guilt. She pushed her conscience aside and lied,

"Oh, I went to the apothocary in Riften, it was just a case of...Ataxia, but I'm fine now...really, I'm fine now. Never better in fact."

Vilkas nodded, seemingly believing her.

"Alright, I'm going to get back to Kodlak and let him know the score, you should maybe think about heading up to Dragonsreach and having a chat with Ulfric. He's only going to be here for a few more days and after that the only correspondance you'll have with him for awhile will be through letter, I have a hunch he'll be planning his next attack very soon. So go, and try and not let slip you were in Riften, remember, you were out training with me."

Fehn nodded and snapped,

"Oh, yes, yes, remember, unlike you - who can't even utter a lie to Hulda to ease her worry - I can tell Ulfric I was out training with you."

Vilkas rolled his eyes,

"I can lie."

He lied and Fehn smiled and shifted her weight,

"Oh really?"

Vilkas squared his shoulders and stuck out his chin,

"Yes, really."

There was a pause as Fehn's smile broadened and she moved closer,

"Alright then, new plan; how about you come up with me to Dragonsreach, I'll go up and tell Ulfric what's been happening, and then we can both go down to the mead hall and see Kodlak. How's about it?"

Vilkas bobbed his head and folded his arms and scoffed,

"Yeah, that sounds easy enough, lead the way."

Holding up a finger, Fehn said brightly,

"There is one condition,"

Vilkas frowned and shifted his weight, keeping his eyes on her, he mumbled,

"What?"

Fehn chuckled,

"You have to vouch for me to Ulfric! There, that's fair, isn't it?"

Before he could reply, Fehn turned on her heel and walked briskly up towards Dragonsreach, leaving Vilkas to follow her shaking his head and swearing an oath.


	44. The Foal to The Slaughter

Chapter XLIV - The Foal to the Slaughter

The candles had burned down and were now emitting a greasy ambience in the spacious, high-roofed chambers of Dragonsreach. Ulfric let out a sigh as he scanned the scrolls that littered his desk. Sipping at a goblet of spiced wine, the Jarl rubbed a hand down his tired features and leaned back. The scroll he was scrutinizing was a report of all the dragon sightings in the Holds of Eastmarch and Whiterun alone, even Ulfric Stormcloak could not deny the seriousness of Skyrim's predicament when it came to the return of the fabled beasts. The silence was disturbed when the sound of leather boots softly scuffled along the wooden beams of the floor alerted Ulfric. Gazing up, Ulfric's eyes met with Fehn's, who now stood quietly before him - her hands behind her back.

Fehn was not surprised to see new lines now scored Ulfric's face, the Jarl's ruddy blond hair was threaded with grey and his eyes fatigued. For a moment they stared eachother down, Fehn was the first to speak as she moved closer to the Jarl's desk,

"Jarl, I've returned from my training..."

Ulfric was quiet still but nodded his head slowly. Fehn's brow twitched, Ulfric was never the silent one. Moving closer still, Fehn's fingers brushed the polished surface of the desk, standing before Ulfric, she asked sofly,

"Ulfric, are you alright?"

Ulfric's fingers were laced tightly together, held up before his mouth, he breathed into the spire of his fingers and shrugged his shoulders. Turning his head, he let his hands rest on the sea of papers and scrolls. Fehn watched as the Jarl slowly plucked one particular scroll from the huge bundle and flicked it over so that the long cursive writing was facing Fehn. Gently the Imperial nipped the scroll from Ulfric's silent hand, her eyes widened in horror as she read;

_Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,_

_It has come to our attention that the Dragonborn has been enthralled to you and your Stormcloaks, this is an abomination, Ulfric! You yourself know that as she is a potential Master of the Voice, it is crucial that the Dragonborn be schooled in the Way of the Voice - as Kynareth deemed us mortals versed in the Dragon Tongue to do. I am astounded that you, who out of all your army cannot see this and continue to throw the Dragonborn into the fray and insist that she use her spectacular talent and birthright to fight your war. Your endless, seemingly goalless war. Mark us, Ulfric, this is not Kynareth's way, and you will learn the hard way what happens when a god truly becomes disgruntled - although Talos does not seem to be bothered with his lack of worship these days. You are tempting great danger by giving your Dragonborn a taste for blood._

_Your Master in the Way of the Voice and fast friend,_

_- Arngeir._

Ulfric's eyes blazed into Fehn as she sat down on a wooden chair slowly. He watched her as she re-read the letter before she let her hands fall deliberately and come to rest in her lap. Her eyes darted from the parchment to Ulfric, Fehn spat,

"'Your' Dragonborn? What exactly does Arngeir mean by this, Ulfric?"

Ulfric sat still in his chair before he finally spoke,

"It seems the Greybeards believe that you are not here of your own volition and that I have balled and chained you and commanded you to heel as my pet Dragonborn. Arngeir hopes this strongly worded letter will prompt me to release you from your oaths and let you off the leash to become one of them."

The sound of wood scraping against wood resounded throughout the chamber,

"I am not your pet!"

Ulfric's facial expression was bland as Fehn stood before him with her chest heaving in her rage, the both of them ignoring Arngeir's letter as it fluttered to the floor at Fehn's feet. The Jarl eyed Fehn thoughtfully before getting to his feet and walking around the desk, Fehn followed him with her eyes as he walked plaintively around the desk,

"So, you'll not be surprised to know that I have heard some rather interesting tit-bits about you, Stormblade. Some I am pleased to hear, others I am not."

Fehn cocked an eyebrow as Ulfric stood alongside her, folded his arms and leant against the lip of his desk.

"I have heard tidings of your footwork, Kodlak Whitemane tells me you are becoming a fine swordswoman. This is good. Although, I had heard that you had been struck down with sickness - this I am to believe is false given that you look...well?"

Unable to look into his eyes, Fehn kept her face true and nodded solemnly,

"Yes, I am well, Ulfric, thank you. And...my training is coming on for the better."

Nodding his head, Ulfric motioned with a shrug,

"My steward back in Windhelm tells me that my other forces across the land are finding victory, I am to believe that this may have been your doing. You joining our cause has been a real boon for this army. Thank you."

"It's an honour to help in any way I can."

Again, Ulfric nodded.

"But, I think maybe our time in Whiterun has come to pass. We've restocked and been given time to lick our minor wounds. The Empire is amassing and those Altmer bastards are plotting up in the damn Embassy; I can feel it. I shall have to leave you soon, I've left you instruction. I am giving you the responsibility to protect Whiterun while I return to Windhelm, I want you to reside here until I send for you."

Fehn turned to meet his eyes,

"You want me to stay here?"

Ulfric's expression was unreadable, but Fehn had an inkling that the Jarl was not inclined to keep her here without some third-party prompting him - a strange notion. Exhaling loudly, Ulfric brushed his beard absently and deliberately averted his eyes from Fehn's,

"Is it the letter? I know you trained with the Greybeards, but who cares what Arngeir says...I know I've been a rather shoddy soldier, but..."

Ulfric's eyebrows raised a little as Fehn placed a hand on his shoulder,

"I came to you, not the other way about. If you want me to protect Whiterun, I can do that to the best of my abilities, but don't keep me in the dark."

It seemed as though the Jarl was holding back. Casting his eyes over to the stairs which lead down to the throne room, Ulfric gripped Fehn's elbow and turned her so that she was facing the stairs. Fehn was confused as she searched his face for answers, the Jarl's mouth barely moved as he rested his hands gently on her shoulders,

"You are the best asset I have ever acquired, Fehn, but there is trouble brewing,"

She was taken aback at the use of her real name. The intensity of his gaze made her back stiffen,

"I'm leaving you in a den of wolves, d'you understand? You have to stay vigilant, don't believe everything anyone says to you, Stormcloak or not. Don't always trust anyone who calls themselves one of my men. You must promise me this."

Shaking her head, Fehn tried to piece together what Ulfric was trying to tell her,

"I'm in danger?"

"You are always in danger."

He interjected quietly. He squeezed her shoulders to punctuate what he was saying,

"Dragonborn or not, some people don't care. Fights and slander can quickly escalate, something could happen. Make sure that absolutely nothing happens to you."

At that Fehn laughed at his earnestness,

"Ulfric, aren't you being a tiny bit paranoid?"

She could tell her nonchalance was irking him because he shook her angrily and snapped,

"You may be Dovahkiin but you are still just an Imperial to some, alright! I can't always be around to ensure your safety."

Fehn was agape, swaying in Ulfric's iron grip, she stuttered,

"S-so what're you saying?"

Ulfric's eyes were level with her own as he leaned down a little,

"Keep your guard up, Stormblade."

Finally his message sank in; Ulfric was worried that the Nords of his army would turn on her the minute his own back was turned. The reason he feared this is because if he was not the one running this campaign, he would be the first to shank her the moment he could. Shaking her shoulders again, Ulfric ducked his head and said in an almost apologetic tone,

"I know you don't think me a good person, Fehn. But you must understand that I am only doing this to free my land. Don't let anyone drip poison in your ear, keep your own counsel and try and stay out of trouble. Can you do this for me? Not as one of my soldiers, but as one of my people?"

Fehn gave him a hollow nod and he let out a sigh and let his hands fall away from her trembling shoulders.

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

Shaking her head, Fehn shrugged her shoulders and uttered honestly,

"I trust that you'll always do what's best for you Ulfric."

The Jarl nodded and turned his back to her, making his way down the stairs. He stopped after the third step and asked,

"You were training with the Companions?"

Fehn nodded,

"Yes, with one of their warriors, Vilkas. He's down the stairs."

Ulfric was thoughtful for a moment before he said,

"I think a month's leave will do you. A month of training and then I'll send for you."

With that he began to descend the steps, Fehn reached out a hand and called,

"Ulfric...!"

The blonde-haired man stopped and turned his head lazily to look at her,

"Where will we be fighting next?"

The silence hung in the air heavily and Ulfric looked down at his feet before looking back to her and answering tiredly,

"Hjaalmarch, we'll be taking Hjaalmarch. All the best, Stormblade."

Fehn watched with a heavy heart as Ulfric disappeared down the steps. Standing alone in the empty chamber, Fehn was left to wonder what would become of her in the following weeks leading up to their fight for the Hold of Hjaalmarch.


	45. A Pleasant Vigil

Chapter XLV - A Pleasant Vigil

Fehn's teeth chattered relentlessly as she shivered in her steel armour, the coldness of her helmet was biting on her face. Shifting her feet back and forth as she stood in among her fellow Stormcloaks a good few feet shorter than the party. Her agitated shifting to drive out the cold was noticed by Galmar who elbowed her sharply in the ribs,

"Stand at peace!"

Unwillingly, Fehn tried to stay still. She found it amazing how the general could stand to wear his general's attire; which consisted of a single bear hide that fell down the back as a cloak, the open maw of the dead animal was hollowed-out and served as the head-piece of the attire, leaving the arms and legs bare, save for a pair of fur gauntlets and leather boots for the feet. Shaking her head, Fehn found herself admiring Galmar's fortitude.

Their party of fifty or so soldiers had been stationed out in the stinking marches of Hjaalmarch for nigh on two weeks, it had been a long and boring campaign with much deliberation. Finally Galmar's fiery temper had gotten the better of him, while Ulfric was off conducting business in Windhelm, procuring Hjaalmarch had fallen to Galmar who had been given a free pass to get the Hold closest to Solitude by any means the general deemed fit. His first move was to pluck Fehn from her training with the Companions after her first week back in Whiterun after her 'training session' with Vilkas out in the tundra. Fehn could remember Galmar's thunderous face when he barged into the courtyard of Jorvaskrr and comanded that she pack a bag and say her goodbyes and that they would be leaving within the hour. After two seconds of looking into Galmar's eyes, Fehn knew straight away that the general was privy to the knowledge that Arngeir and the Greybeards were displeased with his liege. Fehn also knew in those two seconds that Galmar blamed Fehn for the strife caused afterwards. Fehn didn't really care, she was more concerned with the marshes that they would be facing in Hjaalmarch.

The moment Fehn had laid eyes on the stinking, wet, gloomy marshes she had retched so hard, she thought she would throw up a lung. The last time she had seen a marsh, she had galloped non-stop from the Imperials and from Commander Maro. The only one who had known what brought on her strange behaviour was Ralof as she had told him of her entry into Skyrim and he had told her that he had seen her from the cart as she was bundled into their carriage on their way to Helgen. Fehn was deeply contented that he was back at her side as her sword-brother. She and Ralof had fought in many skirmishes now and both of them had learned to trust eachother with their lives unconditionally. One night as they sat around the campfire, night had fallen only four hours earlier and Fehn had sat staring unseeing into the flames. Her mind was on a letter which had come for her by courier when she was in Whiterun. Her face had blanched as she looked upon the simple note; a black hand and the words, "We know." in bold print underneath the hand had made Fehn's blood run cold and her chest tighten.

The only thing that letter could have referred to was the murder of Grelod the Kind. Fehn had pleaded with the courier most desperately for any information about the person who had sent it, all she had got from the courier was that it was from a "creepy fellow" in a black cloak. That did not narrow it down. After that Fehn was actually glad to be getting back out in the field with the Stormcloaks, as much as she had enjoyed her down time in Whiterun, she had too much time to just sit and think, and thinking made her worry most profusely - especially since all she could think about was Grelod and the note.

She was brought back to reality when Ralof came over with a mug of warm mead and sat down next to her. Fehn smiled as she sat perched on a chest,

"Thank you."

She said sweetly and held the mug in her hands to warm them. She knew that Ralof was staring at her suspiciously, the man was nearly as bad as Hulda for sniffing out when something was afoot - especially if it involved Fehn.

"You look better."

Ralof commented simply and Fehn turned to look at him with one of her dark eyes. She smiled and sipped her mead, her helmet was sat next to her on the chest, she had forewent the blasted thing when she began to get burns from the cold it wreaked on her face. She hated burns. Her eyes on Ralof, she saw that his usually bright face was serious and almost earnest as he gazed at her, his seriousness soon turned to genuine concern. Fehn hated worrying him, she knew that he spent most of their fights with one eye on his opponent and the other on Fehn - a fatal flaw on Ralof's part, all it took was one moment of distraction. The thought did the opposite of comfort Fehn.

"Yes, I've felt better, thanks. How went the scouting?"

Ralof clicked his tongue and in that moment of annoyance, Fehn had to hold back a giggle as she saw Gerdur's face in Ralof's. The Nord frowned and threw a twig into the flames which licked a pot of stew, keeping it at the boil for the night watch.

"It's easy pickings - too easy Galmar thinks. Morthal's completely surrounded my marshes and water, an attack would be easy. But like I said, the general thinks that Idgrod's plannin' to bottle-neck us. Bottle-necking is when-"

Fehn held up a hand,

"Ralof, I was in the army - I know what battle tactic bottle-necking is."

They laughed and Ralof smiled sheepishly,

"Sorry, Fehn...I always forget. Anyway, Galmar smells a trap and frankly so do I. Idgrod's a bit of a seer, he thinks that maybe the only reason she's not putting up more of a defence is because she knows something - or she's foretold something."

Fehn's eyes drifted over their camp. They had made camp on one of the little snow-topped hills which stuck up out of the marshlands, it was a good position and on the high ground. The marsh water served as a make-shift moat, the only problem with an otherwise perfect tactical camp was the reeking smell of the water. Many of the men woke up in the morning balking and walking around the camp coughing and spluttering until they finally retched. Keeping food down too was a nightmare. Turning her attention back to Ralof, Fehn asked,

"I don't see why we need Hjaalmarch anyway, I mean,"

She leaned closer and lowered her voice,

"We already have Jarl Skald flanking us in Dawnstar in the Pale - what's the point in getting Hjaalmarch?"

Ralof thought for a moment before shaking his head and replying just as quietly,

"Hjaalmarch and Dawnstar are but a means to an end - we want to be close to Solitude, but in controlled areas. We don't want to make camps and then go hungry after a few months on the vigil, as you can see, these stalemates can go on for quite sometime."

"You're not joking."

Fehn countered and sipped her mead. Nodding her head, Fehn motioned with a hand,

"Aye, right, fine - I see your point. It's just, these marshes freak me out and this cold is unbearable! I thought the areas up closer to Solitude were more mild?"

Ralof smiled and said,

"Ah, you Imperials and your love of the sun! Nothing in Skyrim is mild, not her weather, not her land-"

"Not her people?"

Fehn jested nudging him. Ralof smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkled and he laughed his bubbly laugh. Fehn found herself looking at him closely; he seemed to have aged just as Ulfric had when she had seen him last, with new lines on his face. His hair still had its usual plate down the left side of his face, but it was longer and unkempt. His usually clean-shaven face, with only a little stubble was now adorned with an impressive Nord beard, thick and bushy. Fehn giggled and said,

"You look like Father Winter with that beard."

Ralof chuckled and stroked it playfully,

"One day it'll be as impressive as ol' Ysgrammor's, eh?"

Fehn laughed and nodded her head in agreement,

"Ysgrammor doesn't have a chance I reckon."

Their mirth died in their throats when Galmar stalked up towards them. Standing to attention, Fehn's cold fingers laced tightly around her tankard she placed the half-full cup on the chest and stood next to Ralof as Galmar adressed them both,

"Ah, look, the old gang back together, huh? Bah. Whatever you two whisper in the night when the pretty lights come out in the heavens is nothing to do with me, but when you both sit bellyaching on a watch - that's cause for problems. Ralof, you should be resting, not clucking with Fehn like the two of you are in a bloody steamy! Am I clear?"

Both Ralof and Fehn nodded contrite,

"Yes, general."

They both chorused which seemed to satisfy Galmar who puffed his chest out and marched off to his tent. When the general had left them, Fehn turned to look at Ralof - her expression was one of mischief, Ralof pushed her shoulder,

"Don't wind him up - you're skating on thin ice with him as it is."

Fehn let out a sigh and flopped back down on the chest, resting her head in her hands she looked back into the fire and said,

"Only because he blames me for everything...Galmar'll never get over the fact that I'm Imperial."

Ralof sat back down too and placed a big hand on Fehn's back and soothed her,

"You just have to give the old bull time, he'll soon come to see that you aren't just Ulfric's Dragonborn. You're a Stormcloak - a bloody good one too."

Fehn was too tired to berate him for calling her 'Ulfric's Dragonborn' everyone was whispering it behind their hands and that was nothing compared to the rumours which had spread that she was not only Ulfric's 'pet' Dragornborn but also his mistress, there were even some who said that the Dragonborn and the esteemed Jarl of Windhelm had brought about the return of the dragons themselves and that they both murdered the High King. Fehn had shrugged these rumours off as she always had done. Gazing over to Ralof, a frown puckered her brow and she asked,

"You think I'm a good soldier?"

The question seemed to confuse Ralof and he stopped rubbing her back as he thought. Fehn watched him carefully as his expression sobered,

"You're not as experienced, but who cares. Half the boys in this army haven't even seen their twentieth winter. You're a good fighter and loyal - that is all you need be. That'll all I need you to be."

Fehn laughed and hung her head,

"The next time you don't watch where the next claymore's coming from because you're too busy keeping an eye on me, I am going to hurt you. You're as bad as Vilkas."

Ralof's smiled faded a little and he moved back, rubbing his hands together, the light from the flames danced along his countenance,

"How're things coming on with the Companions? I barely saw you in Whiterun, and does that dark-haired Nord cut his hair every day only to have it grow back the next?"

Fehn cocked an eyebrow at Ralof, not understanding the Nord's question when suddenly she let out a yip of laughter and slapped him on the arm,

"You idiot! That's Farkas! Vilkas has a twin, you dunce!"

Fehn leaned over and laughed into the fire while Ralof fought off his embarrassment while also trying to keep her quiet so that Galmar didn't come back and have them whipped. Tears were rolling down Fehn's face when she sobered up enough to look through bleary eyes at Ralof,

"Oh, I tell you, when this is over - if you survive - you should take your stupidity on the road."

Ralof narrowed his eyes at her and smiled sarcastically at the laughing Imperial. While she was laughing Fehn didn't realise Ralof lean down and get a handful of snow. Her laughter was quickly stifled when he squashed the cold substance in her face causing her to yelp from the shock. Before Ralof could revel in his victory Fehn had pushed the big man off the chest backwards and laughed as he landed in the cold snow on the other side. Pointing at him, snow was dripping from her nose, she jested heartily,

"Oh, don't worry, Ralof, that beard'll keep you warm!"

His face was a picture as he got himself back up, his whole back white with snow and his hair peppered with the stuff. He was moody and quiet as he wiped himself down, deliberately ignoring Fehn. When he realised she was being too quiet he turned to see her holding out her half-full mug of warm mead out to him,

"Peace offering?"

She smiled and he took the mug from her hands. They kept watch together for the rest of the night until the first gray light emerged from over the misty hills. They had wrapped a cloak around them and Fehn had been dozing when Ralof roused her,

"Come on, we have to get ready - we take Morthal today. Or we sit in the bushes and look at it until Galmar has sussed out how to take the town."

With a yawn Fehn nodded and got to her feet, stretching in the dull morning sun, she turned and smiled at Ralof,

"I hope we take it soon so we can head back...I kind of miss Whiterun."


	46. Morthal's Reckoning

Chapter XLVI - Morthal's Reckoning

A clamour of blades, the whizzing of arrows and the screams of brawling men filled Fehn's ears. Gripping the pommel of her orcish blade, she shoulder-barged one of Morthal's guards as he tried to embed the blade of his war axe into the head of a Stormcloak soldier. Whipping around quickly, she elbowed another guard as he tried to flank her sneakily. The guard fell back with a cry and Fehn tried to push her way out of the cluster of battling forces. Her retreat was cut short as one of the guards gripped her ankle and dragged her to the frozen well-trod ground. Fehn went down with a yelp and disappeared from the fray.

The guard's helmet had been knocked off while fighting and his typical Nordish features were all twisted and snarling as he grabbed at Fehn's legs and dragged her towards him. With a grunt, the Imperial desperately felt for her sword and couldn't find it. Kicking the guard in the face, Fehn rasped as he spat out a dislodged tooth,

"Should have kep the helmet!"

With another kick, Fehn flipped onto her belly and crawled among the stamping feet of the combatants fighting around her. As she wrapped her dirty blood-stained fingers around the smooth hilt of her blade, with a feral smile she clamped down on the sword and pulled it into her breast to keep her grip on it. Suddenly Fehn spluttered as she felt the weight of a man crush down on her and the blade of her sword sink into her belly. Gasping, she turned her head painfully and saw the face of the guard she had kicked in the mouth. His eyes were wild and crazed, lacing his fingers through her hair, he gripped it tightly and smashed the Imperial's head down on the frozen earth. Once. Twice, and a thrid time. Fehn's vision flickered and blurred, a mixture of pain coming from her broken nose and the blade that was edging further and further into her body. She could taste blood and dirt in her mouth as one spilled from it while the other was forcefully stuffed in with each time her head smacked off the ground. Sounds became deep and resounding, she could barely make out the boots of the people milling around her and her assailant. Suddenly she heard the familiar sound of her name, although it was distorted and sounded like the wailings of a ghost, far off in the back of her mind. She coughed and felt her eyes roll into the back of her head.

"Fehn!"

Ralof swung his hammer into the ribs of the guard who was lying on top of her. The guard wailed in agony as he rolled off of the slight girl. Not pulling any punches for a fellow Nord, Ralof stood on the guard's neck and brought his hammer down brutally on his head. The disgusting sound of bones crunching beneath his hammer and the squelch of his blood splattering on the earth rang out and Ralof abandoned the guard's now mutilated corpse. Making his way over to Fehn's still body, the clamour of battle still raged around her, Ralof grabbed her and pulled her limp body free from the tight pack of fighting men. Ralof's breath was ragged as he held Fehn close, his eyes widened when he spotted that her own blade was poking out of her stomach, just below her breasts. Setting her down by a rock, he shook her and watched as her head lolled from one side to the other, her face was dogged and bloody, barely recognisable.

They had fought for three days and three nights in their attempt to take the city of Morthal. General Tullius seemed to have foretold what the Stormcloak's next move would be and had hidden a big Imperial force in the city's barracks. Galmar had sworn an oath and condemned all the Imperials to Oblivion when he had discovered that Idgrod had already been evacuated along with her daughter and young son, all that remained in the city were battle-hardened soldiers who were expecting an attack. All the townsfolk had either been evacuated to Solitude with their Jarl, or stayed behind to protect their home and livelihood. The Stormcloaks had been outnumbered six-to-one, and they were beginning to dwindle in their stance. They had lost many men from their fifty-man party and at this point it almost seemed like a suicide campaign.

Shaking Fehn harder, Ralof opened his pack and pulled out his last healing potion. Positioning the bottle at Fehn's lips, he tried to make her drink. After a few moments of nothing, Ralof finally lost his patience, forcefully opening the Imperial's bloody mouth, he stuffed the bottle into her mouth and watched as she gulped down the crimson concoction. He watched with baited breath for a few tense moments as Fehn still did not stir. Ralof let out a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding as she coughed and spluttered and her eyes fluttered open. He smiled down at her as she scanned his face, her expression was confused,

"I told you I'd hurt you..."

Her tiny voice faded back into the din, but Ralof knew what she meant and laughed, nodding to the sword that stuck out of her, he placed one hand on her chest and the other gripped the hilt of the blade; with a nod, he pulled it free of Fehn's body and watched as she writhed in pain. Setting the blade aside, Ralof gazed around the battle and his heart began to sink, they were fighting a losing fight. The Stormcloaks had no chance of winning. Turning back to Fehn, he said,

"You were going to hurt me? You'd be dead in the dirt if I hadn't pulled that guard off you."

She smiled weakly and held up a hand for him to hoist her up. Pulling the Imperial to her feet, Ralof watched her as she scanned the battle.

"We can't win this."

Fehn breathed, her hand still lost in Ralof's grasp. Turning to him, she shook her head,

"It's true, we can't win this? What Galmar said about 'death or glory', that's going to happen, isn't it?"

Ralof's tired blue eyes slid away, refusing to meet her gaze. The battle was coming to a head, so many lay dead in the snow, the earth was stained with the blood of both forces, hammers smashed off helms and swords pierced breast plates. The screams of dying and injured men filled everyone's head. Fehn pulled on Ralof's hand,

"Where's the general? We can't let him fall, if he does then the Empire has a foothold in Ulfric's defeat!"

Ralof nodded and threw his determined gaze back out over the fighting. It was impossible to pick Galmar out from the scuffles. With a click of his tongue, Ralof shook his head,

"We'll never find him in this din! I'll have to go'n look for him..."

Fehn's belly knotted in fear, she knew what was coming next.

"Listen, Fehn,"

Ralof began urgently squeezing her little hand,

"You have to go, Ulfric can't lose you. No one knew that there was this big a force here in Morthal - no one would blame you. Not even Galmar."

Immediately Fehn shook her head and outright refused to leave. Rolling his eyes irritably, Ralof gripped her shoulders and shook her so hard her feet came off the ground.

"I'm thinking about the bigger picture here, Fehn! If Galmar dies you say the Empire has a foothold. If you die, they have a harness! Now come on, I'll cover you and you can make your escape!"

Slapping off his hands, Fehn shook her head again,

"No! No, I can't leave you all! I-I can't do that, I can't abandon anyone, not again..."

Changing tact, Ralof gripped her shoulders again, softly this time, he leaned down so that his eyes were level with hers. Slowly and urgently, he pressed,

"This is not about the past, this is about the future, and if you die..."

He pressed his forehead against hers and whispered only for her,

"There is no future."

Tears were falling silently from Fehn's eyes as she stood before him. Panic was surging up towards her throat causing a lump to form. Their head's still pressed together, Fehn let out a whimper and threw her arms around Ralof's neck and hugged him tightly. He returned her embrace and held her close, taking her feet off the ground again. Finally setting her back down, he used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her eyes. Fehn sniffed and tasted blood fall down the back of her throat from her ruined nose, looking up at Ralof, she was astounded to see the Nord smile at her,

"Don't be sad."

He soothed, while Fehn tried to not to bawl like a baby in front of him. Nodding her head, she turned and looked at the fighting forces again. She started when she felt Ralof tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and looked back at him,

"Is there anything I can do? I-I could send for more men..."

It was a weak suggestion and even Fehn knew she was grasping desperately at straws. Ralof smiled at her naïvety and shook his head, tears were glistening in his eyes too now,

"We'll all be long dead by then, Fehn. And I would never allow myself to become a prisoner of the Imperials...Well one has me prisoner, I suppose."

Fehn couldn't resist a smile and let out a little hiccup of laughter,

"Which Imperial has you prisoner?"

Ralof smiled and moved closer, gripping her hands he brought them up and held them close to his breast,

"One has enslaved my heart."

Fehn felt her stomach flutter a little as Ralof's dark blue eyes bored into her. Without saying anything, Fehn stood on the balls of her feet and kissed him softly on the mouth. Wrapping his hands around her waist, they kissed in the fray of battle. Coming back down, Fehn sniffed again and Ralof chucked her under the chin,

"We'll go now?"

He asked her like she was a child, and like a child Fehn was at a loath to leave him. She wanted to cling to him and convince him to come with her, but she knew his stubborn pride would never allow him to do such a thing. Her face was tragic as she avoided looking at him with his big honest eyes and bright face, nodding her head, she allowed him to grip her hand and guide her through the throng of Stormcloaks, Morthal guards and Legionares.

One Morthal guard harried Ralof and without thinking, Fehn ducked under the Nord's arm and plunged her blade into the guard's gut. Wrenching her blade free, she brutally kicked the man to the ground, turning back to Ralof she smiled her wolfish smile. With a nod and a smirk, Ralof took her hand and took point again, pulling her through the battle to the bridge which lead away from Morthal. When they finally got to the bridge, mist was beginning to curl about their wastes as dawn fast approached. Coming to a halt, Ralof turned back and gazed over Fehn's head intently to check that they weren't followed. Taking her by the shoulders again, he eyed her very seriously and said,

"Don't stay true when you come off the bridge, d'you hear me? That leads to Solitude, don't stay true. Lay low in the marshes for a bit until you stop hearing the clang of battle. Then double back and make your way to Dawnstar, once there, get a carriage to Windhelm. Tell Ulfric what happened here today, if it comes to it, tell him Galmar dismissed you - don't worry, he'll understand. You're too important an asset to him to punish you."

Fehn's eyes were red-rimmed and her mouth trembled, she didn't want to leave them. Seeing her defiance in her face, Ralof squeezed her shoulders so tightly it almost hurt,

"Fehn, please...don't come back. No theatrics, no heroics. We sing that the Dragonborn is a hero, but I know the girl behind the legend, you are brave and good, but you can't overcome this. Don't throw away your life so rashly, go back to Windhelm and live."

Leaning her head against his chest, she sobbed uncontrollably as he held her and rubbed her back until her weeping subsided a little. Pulling off his hide helmet, Ralof stuffed it on Fehn's head and wrapped the cloak he was wearing around her shoulders. Slapping the helmet playfully, he nodded,

"All set."

Placing his hands on his hips, his eyes drifted down to the amulet of Talos Fehn wore around her neck, the very same amulet that his nephew, Frodner had given her. Fehn watched through teary eyes as Ralof gently ran his fingers over the golden amulet and closed his eyes, saying a soft prayer. When he opened his eyes again, Fehn was watching him silently, tears still plunged down her cheeks,

"I'll see you again?"

Seeing her bewildered expression, Ralof felt pity stir in his stomach for the girl. Taking her in his arms for a final time, he kissed her on the forehead and repeated,

"Don't you dare come back here. Now go."

She faltered a little and was drawn back to the warmth of his arms, Ralof clicked his tongue and pushed her away a little more roughly than he had meant to. Unwilling to draw her back lest he not let her go, he pointed past her and willed her like a master wills his faithful dog to leave him and said in a hard voice,

"Go! Go now, Fehn!"

With that, he turned and bounded off back into the city leaving Fehn standing alone and small on the bridge clutching her sword and weeping uncontrollably.


	47. The Desperate Wanderings of The Lost

_Last chapter update, ha, I know I've been bombarding. Now. Nommy. Must. Sleep._

* * *

><p>Chapter XLVII - The Desperate Wanderings of The Lost<p>

She didn't know how much time had passed. Her knuckles had split from gripping the hilt of her sword so tightly. Wandering through the frozen marshes, Fehn's eyes were glassy; unseeing in the dimness of the morning light. She had walked for miles and the sounds of metal on metal had dissipated hours upon hours ago. There could not have been anyone left. No one was left. She felt alone, and loneliness began to bite into her heart. She had berated herself non-stop for letting Ralof go, she knew that she should have just ignored him and stayed, although she knew that he would have never forgiven her such folly. Her very existence seemed folly to herself at that particular moment. This was the second time in her life where she had wandered so lost and without purpose, the first time being when Luca was killed;

_"Kill them, I see absolutely no point to keeping them alive. Besides, you know as well as I do that it'll just be paperwork when we return to Cyrodill, eh?"_

_Commander Maro winked and slapped Luca on the arm and the Imperial watched as Maro slinked around him and hailed his son, Gaius. Luca turned disbelieving and eyed their captives, a troupe of Nord refugees, six men, eight women and a dozen children. Turning, Luca gripped Maro's wrist and spat,_

_"Sir, you can't be serious, there are women there and children!"_

_Maro squared his shoulders and his pompous, snot-nosed, son came to stand behind his father, bolstering Maro's confidence. Luca's eyes narrowed as the Commander sniffed,_

_"Well you're more than welcome to escort them back to that ice-box they call home, but, you're a junior commander, son. I doubt you have the man-power, ha! Everyone knows the only one you could muster is that doll-in-armour sister of yours."_

_He laughed with his son and Luca could feel his temper rising as Maro continued, his voice cold,_

_"Y'know, I never did have you pegged for a brave one. At least your sister in her damned stupidity thought to save her father while his head was on the block, but not you. You just stood by the Emperor with your head planted firmly up his arse, but that was always the Anonamy way, eh; onwards and upwards?"_

_There was a scream from one of the women captives as Luca smacked the Commander across the mouth with such force, Maro fell back into his son. His eyes blazed with disbelief, wiping the blood from his mouth, his son pushed him up. Luca's throat contracted and his jaw was set as Maro leaned his face in close to his,_

_"When we get back to Cyrodiil, you will be flogged for that piece of spite, boy."_

_With that Maro turned and beckoned for his son to follow him,_

_"'Talented family' my arse..."_

_Luca heard him say as he left and turned his attention back to his prisoners. What was he to do with them? Making his way over to them, he fed them his own rations that night and allowed the women and children refuge in his own tent - while the men were promptly left to their own devices, bound and gagged whilst tied to a pole. Maro scoffed at the young Imperial's compassion, and Luca could feel his own patience with Maro's lack of compassion waning,_

_"I don't see why we have to do away with them! There's no reason not to keep them alive! They're refugees, not murderers, or thieves. The children, for Mara's sake! What's this really about, Maro?"_

_At that the Commander spun on his heel and pointed a finger at the dirty troupe of Nords and hissed quietly to Luca,_

_"They are brigands! They are the very reason that we have to devote so much man-power to Skyrim, why in Oblivion d'you think that those pointy-eared bastards managed to over-run us in our own city, hmm? Because we had too few soldiers to protect the city because they were all wasting away on their heels in that bloody place, Skyrim! If we had more, we could have...So many are dead because of them!"_

_It was then that Luca understood. Maro's own wife had perished when the city was over-run by the Aldmeri Dominion. He was stationed in Skyrim quelling the rebel forces up there and while he was not there to protect his wife, she had been cut down by the Altmer, like so many. Luca's own mother had been murdered in that very same battle, he and Fehn were only babies during that time, some twenty years ago. Nodding his head, Luca could not bring himself to sympathise, his family had taken a blow too brought on by the Aldmeri Dominion but he did not use that as an excuse to kill and maim innocent Nords who were only coming to Cyrodiil no doubt to escape the civil war and forge a better life for themselves. Sadly Maro would never understand compassion, the loss of his great love was still too close to his own heart to spare others his pain. Especially those others he felt were responsible for such a loss._

_Shaking his curly head, Luca stood his ground and said in a quiet voice,_

_"Killing them will not bring those you loved and lost back...I know that as well as you."_

_Maro's face flushed with anger, hissing in a positively rueful voice, Maro said,_

_"Boy, do not presume to lump me with your father! What Penitus did to avenge his wife was his own undoing! Leaving you and Fehnrah to pick up the pieces. Now, I have been good to you children, Penitus was too stubborn and too headstrong to know any better. His own sodding wife was one of those Ice-Dwellers! It's a wonder you and your sister came out looking so dusky, gods know that bitch of his was fair!"_

_Luca's disposition of a calm demeanor and a charming laid-back attitude snapped then to reveal the real man underneath the plastic mask which Penitus had donned both his children in; masks of complete contentedness, masks of happiness, and of glamour. They were Penitus's children, rising stars in the army, the most beautiful at the emperor's court and the most fearsome in battle. underneath these masks were hurt children who after losing their mother to the Aldmeri, had to watch the slow decomposition of their father's most grieved mind. "Onwards and upwards, Anonamies!" He'd say to them after looking them over, he'd keep Fehn dressed in the prettiest gowns and schooled in the most evasive of sword-play. Luca had to be relentlessly charming, smile at the girls and jest with the men, be handsome, yet formidable. Penitus never wavered in his promise to his dead wife that their children would be a success. It was all a plan to raise well beyond their stations. A gamble that Penitus paid for so dearly._

_It was then that Luca struck out at his Commander, his own undoing; striking Commander Maro for a second time, he released the refugees and was hung for his transgressions. Fehn only saw him once while he was imprisoned, her handsome brother was donned in rags, his dark curly hair was long and ragged. His once dark and entrancing eyes were then shadowed and haunted, his hands bound in irons, he held his baby sister close and whispered his final goodbyes to her while she wept. Wiping her tears away with his thumbs, Luca smiled down on Fehnrah and said in voice which could have passed for their own father's, _

_"You be good."_

_After that he was led out and hung because he did not kill a band of Nords. Fehn had held the murder of her brother close to her heart, that was when she decided she did not belong with the army, when she realised that the Empire was corrupt - rotting from within. Her diminished family name was all she had left, and even that was not much. After the deaths of her brother and father, she had tried to continue her father's onwards and upwards mind-set, but Fehn was a realist and knew that it was only a matter of time before Maro's own jealousy and hatred of her family turned on her._

Fehn was wrenched free from her memories when her eyes locked with big black, liquid eyes. Eight of them. Coming to a halt, she held her sword close, her ankles frozen to the bone from standing in the knee-deep waters of the marsh. Gulping down, she felt fear grip her as she eyed the frostbite spider. The huge arachnid seemed to be eyeing her too, it's own instincts telling it to attack. Suddenly the creature flourished it's front legs and hissed at Fehn, she was so cold and tired it made her sluggish. Rolling out of the animal's line of sight, she tossed a knife at the attacking spider. The knife struck the beast in the head and it squeeled it's anger loudly. Fehn let out a cry as the animal let loose one of it's poisonous spits, dodging the slimy ball of saliva, Fehn grunted when she felt it's pincers stick into her leg. Finally losing it, Fehn screamed a brutal war-cry and brought her sword down on the creature in an attempt to dislodge it's pincers from her leg. Once the beast was limp, Fehn brought her sword down again, and again. She was covered in the creature's vile blood from head to toe when she had finally battered the thing into a bloody heap of mulch.

Pain swelled in Fehn's chest and she fell to her knees sobbing. All she could think about were those she had loved and lost and how she would never see them again, her father, Luca, Ralof, even Galmar. Getting to her feet, she wiped her face and laughed a shrill and haunting laugh at the irony of her situation; covered in blood and seeking refuge in the marshes, it was almost as if the gods were having a right good laugh at the seemingly endless joke her existence had become. After her mirth had died and became a pathetic gurgle of tears, she loped over the dead spider and bounded through the marshlands, not running anywhere, not seeking anything or anyone.

She ran for hours, something in her mind telling her that she was running from the Legion. It all felt like a weird dejavu, Fehn kept turning her head to look back for anyone giving chase, but there was never anyone there. When she finally came to a halt, she wondered if she had went truly mad and then her throat began to burn. Panic brushed through the Imperial and she clawed at her neck in an attempt to sate the itchiness from the burn. It was then that she felt light-headed and she could hear the dogs barking, they were looking for her. Her eyes became bleary and more tears spilled from them. Slumping down the body of a dead tree till she sat at the roots, Fehn fought the urge to vomit and lay down on the cold snow. Hugging Ralof's cloak close to her, she wished that a heavy snow would fall and bury her beneath it for all eternity.


	48. Missing In Action

Chapter XLVIII - Missing In Action

In the weeks after Morthal's campaign many now believed that the Empire had Ulfric on the run - with many hoping for a speedy end to the never-ending conflict. After the news of his party's defeat at Morthal, Ulfric seemed drained and depressed at the loss of his men, general, captains and of course, his Dragonborn. Before the Jarl of Windhelm was sitting at the table of battle and grinning as he was playing with a full house, radiating in his appearance of being untouchable. Now all he had was a single knave, and his enemies all lined the table with better hands waiting to snap him up, lest he let his guard down. Ulfric had a single card left, and he was playing this one mighty close to his chest.

News quickly spread all over the Nine Holds of the Stormcloaks crushing defeat at Morthal. Taverns buzzed with the common and endless theories, fantasies and rumours which often accumulated in these places - not even a thread of truth or knowledge coming from any well-informed mouth as there were none. When news finally reached Whiterun of an Imperial victory, Vilkas felt his hackles go up. He was informed first of Fehn's demise at the hands of the Morthal guards, then of the apparent cause-crushing effects her death had inflicted upon Ulfric's campaign. Vilkas had nodded and listened intently, but his mind kept drifting and returning to one thing; he knew in his heart that Fehn was alive out there somewhere. Taking a swig of his mead, he detached himself from the talk of the tavern and made his way into the back, hoping for a clandestine exit when he happened upon Hulda.

The old Nord was bent over the stew pot and was stirring it slowly, Vilkas was about to tap the old woman on the shoulder and whisper a quick goodbye when he heard a tiny sniffle escape her. Nervously, Vilkas prowled around her and joked lightly,

"So, tears are the seasoning in your stew, eh? Who knew?"

The old Nord jumped and quickly smiled at him. Wiping away her tears, she nodded to the stew,

"Ah, no, this dish has plenty a' onions in it. The onions keep me weeping."

At that Vilkas nodded, saying nothing and pointed to the door,

"I'm heading off now, Huld...You sure that you're alright, I can kick the patrons out if you like?"

Hulda smiled at his worry and leaned forward and pinched his cheek before shaking her greying head,

"M'dear if I kicked out the patrons every time I felt the familiar sadness of loss engulf my old heart, I wouldn't have an inn. No, dear, I'm fine. You go, and be safe."

Returning to Jorvaskrr, Vilkas slipped in the front door without making a sound. As he was creeping through the silent hall, he heard Vignar's voice come from his room. It was strange that he should hear Vignar, since the old coot had became Jarl he had taken up residence in Dragonsreach with Balgruuf's now estranged children - which were now Vignar's wards. Cocking an eyebrow at Vignar's old raspings, Vilkas sneaked over to the threshold of his room and peered in. Vignar was sitting at his desk, his back ro Vilkas with a feather quill in his hand - he was penning a letter. Suddenly Vilkas's eyes widened when the old man said blandly,

"Y'know if you're going to be a sneak, Vilkas, you might aswell change to some lighter armour."

Vilkas let out a sigh and got to his feet. Moving over to Vignar, he took a seat that was across from the old man, yet veered off a little so Vilkas couldn't see what Vignar was scribbling down at lightning speed. They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound was Vignar's quill as it scratched into the thick creamy parchment before Vignar commented in an idle tone,

"Those Battleborn's are up t' something, Vilkas. Mark my words. They've got dealings with those milk drinking Legionares, I'd bet my bonnet on it."

Vilkas nodded in agreement; it was no secret to them in Whiterun - or those who were interested in other's political dealings - that the Battleborn's were staunch supporters to the Empire. The Battleborns and the Greymanes had been locked in a clan feud that had been ignited since the beginning of the rebellion some ten years ago. Vilkas had no time to debate with whose lot was better than whose, but he found himself always siding with the Greymane's, mostly because Eorland was a good friend who kept his bread and butter sharpened and Vignar was one of the senior members of the Companions and deserved his respect as a junior. As Vignar appeared to have forgotten he was there, Vilkas got up and made for the door,

"I know what you're thinking, boy."

Said Vignar in a quiet voice and when Vilkas turned around to look at him, the old man was leaning over the back of his seat - his pale eyes riveted on Vilkas.

"I'm writing to Ulfric now, telling him that we're running an enquiry...You were quite close to that morsel that he sent our way for training, the Dragonborn?"

Confused as to where the old man was going with this, Vilkas nodded and sat back down, waiting for Vignar to speak,

"There's been rumours, that the Empire may have taken a few..."

Vilkas watched him fixated as he searched for the correct word,

"Hostages. As informants. One of them, Vilkas, was my brother's son. You know what I'm saying?"

Vilkas bobbed his head; another public secret in Whiterun was the blame the Greymane's had thrown on the Battleborn's after their youngest son, Thorald, had been apparently killed in battle. The Greymanes outright refused to believe such a claim and for the better part of the last four months, had been badgering the Battleborn's for answers. Vilkas was intrigued to see where Vignar would take this conversation and waited as the old man spoke,

"I can see it in your eyes, Vilkas. You look like my brother. I have had to watch him and his wife look like that for four months for Thorald. They walk around with orbs of glass for eyes, because they know that somewhere out in the world, their Thorald's alive. You look like that for the morsel. D'you think in your heart of hearts, that the child is still on Nirn, or are you just hoping?"

Vilkas's eyes dropped to the floor, he didn't know why he knew that Fehn was alive, just something in his mind was telling him so. It never even occurred to him that he was maybe just simply in denial, but Vilkas had been a warrior and a Companion almost all of his days - he knew when to trust his gut. Returning his blue eyes to Vignar, Vilkas nodded mutely,

"I do think she is alive."

There was another pause from Vignar as he too nodded and his eyes became distant as he thought. Vilkas watched as the old man's eyes glistened and then listened as he spoke,

"All my long years I've watched young people run off to various causes to their deaths...I hate seeing my brother like this, you know...Eorland's a quiet man at the best of times, but these days he walks with a heavy heart, a heavy, heavy heart. I'm only running this enquiry because Ulfric suggested we do, but if I could bring my brother's happiness back, I would do so. Here, you take this, go'n speak to Koldlak, he'll brief you on what you're to be doing."

Vilkas held out his hand and Vignar placed the letter he'd written into his palm. The name on the envelope read, 'Ulfric Stormcloak'. Getting to his feet, Vilkas eyed the letter and was about to leave the room, when Vignar gently brushed his arm,

"I have no children,"

The old man said in a small voice that was thick with memory and emotion,

"My one goal in life was to respect the old ways, to fight for honour, for glory. To be a Nord, Vilkas. My one goal was to be a good Nord, but I have failed because I forgot that to be a Nord is not to forego your family. If I can bring back Thonar, then I have completed my goal, and after that the morning sun can take my in its flames for its own and I would be welcomed into the halls of Sovngarde...Yes, that is a life which is fit for a Nord. Kodlak's beginning to fear death, y'know? I fear for him too."

Vilkas's brow was set as Vignar seemed to be looking past him to the near future and he shook his head as he spoke, his eyes half-lidded,

"I fear I won't find him there, in Sovngarde."


	49. Bound By Death

Chapter XLVIX - Bound By Death

"Hey! Imperial, hey! _Come on the gods won't give us another chance!..._C'mon, get up."

Fehn's eyes opened a crack, and she shook her head slowly, pain making her sluggish. Her head was ringing and she could hear someone calling for her,

"Ralof?"

She mumbled and slowly rolled over onto her back. The person she saw was not Ralof, it was a Nord man with the fairest blonde hair Fehn had ever seen - it was almost white. Thorald gazed down at her with concern on his familiar face. Fehn found herself smiling up at him, shaking her head, she gripped his hand as he helped her lean up - her left arm dangled uselessly at her side,

"Looks like they finally broke it."

Thorald observed cooly. Fehn nodded looking down at her limp arm,

"Yep. Hurts like hell. Sorry for the confusion again, Tho. You must be sick of getting the same greeting every morning."

Thorald chuckled and waved his hand, his eyes were blackened from various bouts of torture, and his fingernails dirty and bloody.

"Hmph, no worries, Imperial. One day I may actually meet this Ralof, hmm?"

Grief lanced Fehn's heart and she slowly doubled over and feigned greater pain in her arm so that Thorald would not see the sadness play on her face. She had been positively wracked with guilt ever since Morthal, with every second thought always returning to Ralof and the Stormcloaks. She guessed that the news would have spread quickly of Ulfric's defeat, and that did not sooth her. She blinked when she felt Thorald gently pat her on the back, looking up at him, his sympathy was apparent,

"It's nearly your time again - I only just got back a few moments ago and you were still sleeping."

Fehn groaned and let her head fall back. She had been in Thalmor captivity for three weeks now. With each week there came an even more brutal torture technique; this week's being, they clamped Fehn's arm into a strange wooden contraption at the beginning of the week, so that by the end, it was broken. The pressure had mounted every day, Fehn did her best not to cry out, but when she could feel individual fragments of her bones snapping, she yelped like a dog and bit down on her lip so hard she drew blood. The week before her arm was broken, it seemed that the Thalmor had opted for a more psychological approach and had gotten a spell-caster to delve into her mind, rifle through her memories, pluck anything sentimental from her mind and then proceed to conjure apparitions from the Imperial's past and have them stand before Fehn. She had gripped her hair and screamed when her father stood before her and offered her a hand up, she screamed even harder still when the familiar faces of Commander Maro and General Tullius drew their swords and proceeded to harry her.

The week before even that, the elves simply beat her every day and tried to get a reaction. Every question they asked Fehn, she always did the same; she remained mum. The Imperial had been trained within the elite ranks of the Penitus Oculatos, she knew that if she cracked and told them anything, then her usefulness ran out and she would be promptly stuck in the belly like a pig and thrown out over the crags to be claimed by Skyrim and her snows. Her cell-mate was a Nord man who went by the name of Thonar, as a rule, neither of them relayed much about their pasts, only their names and their one common trait; they were both Stormcloaks. During her time in captivity, Fehn had come to quite like Thorald, he was a soft-spoken Nord with fiery eyes which were made all the more flinty with each new black eye the elves gave him. His ability to remain true to his cause and stay at least light inspired Fehn very much, it also made her cleave to him a bit. Thorald did not seem to mind this although, and the two of them had spent many nights huddled together for warmth while the winds wailed outside. Every morning Thorald was taken out first for his slice of torture, when he was finished, the elves would haul his sometimes apparent lifeless body back and throw him back in the cell. Within the hour, they were always ready for Fehn.

Thorald did what he could to prepare her every day, no matter how banged up he was. Fehn was always ready for when he came back with a little cup of water - usually the only water they were given - and held it up to Thorald's lips until it reached half-way, then she would be taken out. After hours of pain and anguish, upon Fehn's return to their cell, Thorald would be waiting with the same treatment; comfort and half a cup of water. It truly was a miserable way to live, Fehn thought. Today was no exception, save that Fehn hadn't been awake for when Thorald had been brought back. Getting to her feet, Fehn stumbled and fell against the rough wall and Thorald gripped her to keep her steady. In the weeks since her capture, Fehn's already slight body had shrunk to the size of a child's, her hunger and thirst were usually at the forefront of her thoughts, followed quickly by an angst-ridden mind-set that she did not deserve food or drink after leaving her shield-brothers and sisters behind. Looking around with eyes which to Thorald looked haunted and dead, Fehn's breath came short when a huge golden-skinned male Altmer came to the cell. Swinging it open, he gazed in with eyes that shone like emeralds. Pointing a gloved finger at her, he commanded,

"You there, come!"

Meekly Fehn moved forward and shook of Thorald's hand. The moment she had a foot out of the cell, the barred door was quickly closed leaving Thorald alone to the task of surviving another few hours of another day alone and in the dark of their shared cell. Limping slowly in front of the elf, Fehn winced when he pushed her forward causing her broken arm to jostle around painfully. When they came to the familiar corridor which lead down to the bowels and to the torture chamber, they veered off into another corridor. Fehn turned back and eyed the Altmer confused, her confusion seemed to irk him, grinding his teeth, he pushed her forward again and walked her silently to a lavishly decorated room. Stepping inside, Fehn held her broken arm with her good hand and stared around the room like a backwater yokel, the tall Altmer who walked her to the room was waved away by the elf who sat at the other side of the room, a book rested in his lap. Waving Fehn forward, the elf motioned that she could have a seat. Slowly and carefully, Fehn lowered herself down into the plush chair and gazed steadfast into the Altmer's golden eyes. He was an old elf, with wrinkles and old battle wounds scoring his face. His long white hair was brushed back to show his face and pointed ears which stuck out a little more than the common Altmer. He was donned in one of the Justiciars uniforms and had pulled his own hood back. Pouring Fehn some wine, he slid it over to her and she sipped it silently, waiting for her captor to speak.

"You're looking a little thin, Imperial? That's not common of your fat-pocketed race."

Fehn ignored him as he chuckled at his own jest. Snapping his book shut, he leaned forward and gulped down his own wine greedily, Fehn watched him disgusted as wine trickled down his chin and plopped down on the desk. With a gasp, the elf finished his wine and poured himself another one, returning his eyes to her, he said,

"I am told that you are not responding to our methods of questioning."

His eyes darted to her arm and bloody face, flashing an ugly smile at her, he spread his hands and stated in a cheerful voice,

"My thoughts of course were; 'She's an Imperial! of course she would not respond to torture, no! All Imperial's have a quick mind, quick for personal gain. They are the best merchants of the human races, and the best politicians. They are also the wee-est and most resilient...' Those were my genuine thoughts, no sarcasm, Imperial. So it seems to me that you are more versed in the art of speaking than that brainless oaf you fight for, Ulfric Stormcloak. So tell me, what kind of man do you make him?"

Fehn sat motionless like a little block of wood. Staring blankly at the elf, she took a breath and sipped a little more of her wine before answering,

"He is a good man, it is an honour to fight for him. I find him compassionate and brave, unlike you sneaky Altmer. Skulking around old strongholds and torturing folk, you are the real descendants of evil and mistrust. I find absolutely nothing appealing about your race, frankly I think the world would be a better place if you all just dropped off the face of Tamriel!"

The elf eyed her, he was deathly silent before leaning over his goblet and countering,

"Yes, but I asked you what you made of Ulfric, not about me and my people. It seems I misjudged your intelligence, again, we elves give you Imperials far, far too much credit. No matter,"

Fehn watched him with eyes like ice as he got up and paced around them, holding his goblet in one hand and his book in the other. Coming to a halt behind Fehn, he leaned down and hissed in her ear,

"We have a friend of yours downstairs, I need you to take a look at him and tell me if he really is who he said he was before we killed him. Yes, we thought it better to just do away with him then and ask questions later. Ask you the question now, and so forth. Now, come along."

Fehn gasped as she was hoisted to her feet by her broken arm by a silent Thalmor warrior who must have entered without her knowing. She was thrown roughly down to the torture chamber and fell down by the table they used to draw and quarter their prisoners. The moment she struck the floor, she was hauled up again by the same warrior and roughly thrust over to another table were there was the body of a big Nord man laying upon it.

"Tell me,"

Began the old elf pointing at the man with his goblet,

"Is this Galmar Stone-Fist, general to the Stormcloak army?"

Fehn's eyes were like saucers as she gaped down at the unknown man. He had a fiery red beard, just like Galmar, the same sort of look; gruff and easily angered. Reaching out with a hand, Fehn softly touched the bear pelt which he wore. It was definitely not Galmar, but Fehn couldn't help but wonder who's intention was it that he look like him. The Thalmor could not have gotten a Stormcloak general's uniform and dress a similar looking Nord up as Galmar could they? Her mind raced, maybe Galmar had made it out of Morthal? What if they planted this man there to make it look like the general had perished...Fehn's hand was pulled away as the elf demanded,

"Well, dog!? Is it him or not!?"

Fehn's eyes jittered from left to right as she looked at the elf and then back to the Nord on the table. Making a decision, Fehn nodded to the elf.

"Y-yes, this man is Galmar Stone-Fist."

The elf smiled broadly revealing his yellow teeth, turning to the also smiling warrior, he saluted him with his goblet,

"Y'hear that! We got him, by the Eight, we finally got that bastard! Haha! Well, now since I am in such a good mood and you are no doubt wrecked with sorrow over the loss of your general, I think maybe another broken arm and then straight back to bed for you, eh?"

Fehn's stomach tightened, it looks like she was getting her own slice of torture today after all. After three hours of mind-numbing pain, Fehn was finally ushered back to her cell where Thorald awaited her return,

"You were ages!"

He gasped as she flopped down on the hay pile next to him and breathed heavily. Giving her the water, Fehn gulped it down and gasped. Thorald was watching her raptly, the Nord's brow furrowing when he heard the Imperial giggle in the half-darkness.

"W-why are you laughing, Fehn?"

Sitting up, Fehn's eyes were glistening with tears and a smile illuminated her face, gripping Thorald's arm with her nearly-broken right hand, she gasped happily,

"They had me identify General Stone-Fist's body!"

Thorald swore and snarled back quietly,

"And what the devil is so funny about that!?"

Fehn chuckled and shook her head, leaning in closer, she whispered in a voice that dripped with hope,

"The body was not Galmar. They had the wrong man."

Thorald's expression relaxed, gripping Fehn's trembling shoulders, he listened as she laughed some more and turned her tear-stained face to him,

"He might be alive!"

She whispered to Thorald in the gloom.

"_He_ might be alive!"


	50. Dedicated to Memory

Chapter L - Dedicated to Memory

"_How's your first siege going then, miss pretty?"_

_Fehn's face was stern as she held a cup of wine to her injured brother's lips. Purposefully pulling the cup back before he was finished drinking, Fehn quipped,_

"_Oh, well I'm happy to see you've not lost that stellar humour of yours. Think how scared I would have been if you'd had."_

_Luca's face cracked into a smile at his sister's testiness. Grimacing at the arrow-wound on his shoulder, he sat up and gazed around blearily. All around him were soldiers, all wounded, all being tended to by various people, matrons, healers, and other soldiers who had not been hurt. _

"_We're taking a hit then."_

_Luca deduced quietly to himself. Fehn nodded and watched concerned as Luca's eyes screwed shut at the biting pain rocketing through his shoulder. Clicking her tongue, Fehn placed a hand on his good shoulder and pushed him back gently,_

"_For Mara's sake, sit back already! You'll do yourself more damage."_

_Flashing her a roguish smile, Luca waved his sister away and gripped her cheek playfully, hooking his fingers around her ear, he tickled her neck making her more irritated with him and causing her to suck in a breath and bat his hand away roughly._

"_Ah, wee Fehnrah. Always worrying - don't. I'm the one that's went an' got hisself shot. I'm fine, though…Here, shouldn't you be holding the fort…literally?"_

_With a shrug Fehn picked up the cup of wine again and passed it to Luca's outstretched hand,_

"_Aye, but father told me to come down and have a look at you. He's hopeful that we can weather the enemy and outlast them. So much for glory, simply outliving a body isn't very glorious."_

_She sighed and didn't see Luca give her a sidelong glance from behind the rim of his cup. With a chuckle, Luca licked his chapped lips and commented lightly - a hint of cheek in his voice,_

"_Oho, look at you! So what, you want to run down - claymores at the ready - and what? Smash the pirates into submission? We're too few here, you know. We'll need to wait until the 'regulars' get here, this isn't our line of work."_

_Sulkily, Fehn brought her knee up and rested her chin on it as she looked at Luca,_

"_I know…It's just, father's always going on and on about grand battles and all that, and here we are; holed up with canon-aid banging at our walls, a dead lord and almost half of us injured. It's just a little less…"_

"_Glamorous?"_

_Luca interjected brightly before Fehn smacked his helmet lightly making him recoil and hit his head off the stone wall,_

"…_Exciting. It's not as heroic either. Just feels a little, pointless. Don't you think?"_

_Luca laughed at that and spluttered into the cup. Banging his chest and coughing, he tried to ignore Fehn's dark inquisitive gaze. Flicking his equally dark eyes up to her, he faltered a little before shrugging carelessly,_

"_What does it matter? We do what we do and we do it well. We were born for this, little Fehnrah. No point plying ourselves t' anything else…"_

_Her level eyes did not leave him as he looked away and said almost to himself,_

"_Although, I'd pay the Emperor's fortune to make sure I never had to brandish a blade again…It's not really in my blood, you know, fighting?"_

_Leaning in, Fehn placed a comforting hand on Luca's muscled shoulder,_

"_My dear brother…"_

_Fehn began tenderly, her lips twitching. Luca turned his head and gazed up at her - his grief almost comical,_

"_Yes, Fehnrah?"_

_He asked while sipping at his wine. Without a word, Fehn smacked the bottom of the cup and watched as Luca's eyes widened when the cool wine slopped down his chin._

"_You're a terrible liar."_

_Both of them ceased their teasing as their father gracefully strode over from the stairwell and eyed them fondly,_

"_Ah, now that's how you tend the wounded in Barbarian Land eh, Fehn?"_

_Fehn dipped her head while Luca snickered,_

"_I apologise, sir."_

_Her father waved it away,_

"_No need t' stand on ceremony, my cub, I just got promoted."_

_Luca sat up,_

"_Promoted?!"_

_Penitus nodded and gently eased his helmet off of his head allowing his long black hair tumble out. Fehn watched them curiously, her father and her brother, while they spoke; while Penitus relayed the news of his promotion to his son, he scooped up his hair and with his other hand, unlaced a thread of ruby red silk from his belt and used it to tie back his dark locks. With another nod, he wiped his glistening forehead and said to Luca,_

"_Aye, shot with an arrow. Went right over the wall and down into the bluff. Poor fellow, is that stew?"_

_Fehn nodded and fetched a bowl and filled it with stew for her father. She rolled her eyes when she heard the inevitable;_

"_Fehnrah? Be a dear an' get me some to, eh?"_

_Shaking her head, she filled up two bowls. One for her father and one for her brother. The men were still chatting when she brought over the two bowls of stew,_

"_You not having any yourself, pet?"_

_Asked Penitus as he spooned the beefy stew into his mouth. Fehn shook her head and kneeled beside Luca as she passed him his bowl. With a nod, Luca took it and smiled._

"_Our bell here was just saying how much she's enjoying her first siege."_

"_Oh, aye?"_

"_No!"_

_Fehn blushed and looked away from her father's quizzical eyes. Fiddling with her gauntlet, she shrugged and said in a mild tone,_

"_I just said that it was different is all."_

_There was silence and Penitus looked to his boy to decipher what his daughter meant. With a wry shrug, Luca kept his eyes in his bowl and waited to hear what their father would say._

"_Well course' it's different, sweeting. We're not at the court now."_

_Luca giggled and Fehn promptly slapped him on the arm without taking her eyes from her gauntlet. As her brother yelped and tried to keep a hold of his bowl, Fehn peeped up and locked eyes with her father. She stiffened as he set aside his half-empty bowl and got to his feet; his armour hardly worn even though he had worn it during countless skirmishes and came to kneel before Fehn. Her eyes level with his, he took her little delicate hands in his own and looked from his daughter to his son. They both gazed back with the same dark, heavy-lidded doe eyes, the same long straight noses with arched level eye brows. _

"_Everything is different out here. Everything changes the moment you draw a blade, believe it. In the throws of battle, Luca, you know this,"_

_Luca nodded and Penitus looked at Fehn and said only to her,_

"_You get in a sword fight, m'dear, they try to kill you, you try an' kill them right back. Remember it."_

_With a bright smile, Luca prompted while setting his empty bowl aside and reaching out for his wine again,_

"_Aye, Fehnrah, but mind; we're Anonamies, there's no trying for us! You'll get em' no problem. But father does have a point, if someone tries to shank you, don't ever think; retaliate. And you make that pretty face the last thing they see before the Void."_


	51. Underneath the Blood Red Moon

Chapter LI - Underneath the Blood Red Moon

Shadows and light mingled with each other mercilessly assaulting Fehn's delicate eyes as they fluttered open after a long sleep. Beams of light as white as snow streaked through the bars of her cell, breaking only when the guards passed her by un-seeing to her misery. Hiccuping and choking from lack of air, the Imperial's eyes rolled and her head throbbed as she began to lull to sleep to the sound of chains jingling and whips cracking. Echoing screams and gurgled pleads rang out from the vast and mossy chambers; holding her bruised hands to her ears she tried to block out the dreadful wailings. She let out a choked scream as she felt a warm hand grip her own. Flicking her gaze up, her eyes rested on Thorald, his kind eyes black with bruising and his star-light hair stained with blood. She returned his smile gently as he softly and comfortingly stroked her cut knuckles with his rough fingers. The silence had gone on for such a long time now. Such a very long time.

Days had blended into weeks and weeks into months. It felt like an eternity. In the time Fehn had spent locked up her hair had grown long and wild, now well past her breasts. Thorald was faring no better with a long shaggy mane of white spewing from his head and hanging forlornly over his eyes. Tipping her head back, Fehn leaned her thick and fuzzy head on the rough stone wall; taking a breath, she squeezed Thorald's hand and whispered in a small and hoarse voice,

"I think I'm ready to go home now..."

Thorald's gaze was tense as he gripped her hand a little harder. Leaning himself in a little closer to her, he gently took hold of her chin and pulled her face in his direction so that she would look at him. Fehn's dark gaze was unfocused and bleary, frowning and jolting forward, she tried to look at him while he said tersely,

"You're not going anywhere. They'll be coming for us, you'll see."

Fehn nodded vacantly. It was absolutely no use arguing with Thorald. Once he was set on something, nothing would or could convince him otherwise. Tearing her gaze from his own, she looked out towards the cell door.

"D'you think it's true, Tho?"

Thorald's eyes were hard as he turned them on her shrunken frame,

"Is what true, Fehn?"

"That they're making vampires down there?"

Fehn felt Thorald's body tense and tighten as the words left her mouth and hung in the air like the stench of burned flesh and vampire dust. Hearing him shiver, Fehn reached out and absently patted his head like he was a fretting dog before running her hand down to touch his rough face,

"I'm sorry...I-I just..."

Her voice seemed to phase out and Thorald watched as the Imperial's black eyes began to roll into the back of her head before she refocused them and smiled, in a giddy voice, she said,

"I just wanted to know from...from someone I could trust."

Thorald exhaled and batted her hand away gently as he reached over and placed his big palm on her waxy brow. She was as hot as a poker and the smile she flashed him was twice as jagged as one. Thorald shook his head and breathed,

"No, Fehn, no..."

Disbelieving, he watched as her once black eyes glowed amber and a feral grin spread along her sweating face,

"I trust you...and you...you _trust_ me, right, Thorald?"

"I trust you, Fehn."

Fehn's grin widened,

"Then come closer."

Thorald quickly got to his feet and retreated back into the middle of the cramped cell,

"I trust you, but not with those eyes Fehn."

Silently this new Fehn got to her feet and eyed him dangerously,

"My eyes? What's wrong with them? Aren't they just as big and black as ever? Haven't you looked into them every day for hope and found yourself stirring with lust for me? I know you have, Thorald, and that's why I want you to come closer. I've felt myself long for you too...Just come here so that I may show you."

Thorald shook his snowy head and bared his teeth in a snarl,

"This isn't you, Fehn! You are not yourself, get back or I'll..."

"You'll what?"

She cut him off. She was closing in on him now like a sabre cat zeros-in on an elk.

"You'll kill me with your bare hands?"

At that she chuckled throatilly and raised her head and drew herself up to her full height and bared her newly grown fangs at Thorald menacingly,

"You couldn't kill me, Tho. Not poor wee Fehn, not I."

There was a pause as Fehn's blazing eyes bored into Thorald. She was up against his chest now, preening up at him with he glaring down defiantly at her.

"I can't kill you."

Thorald agreed as Fehn smiled knowingly.

"But I can do this,"

He concluded as Fehn's brow tightened in confusion. Suddenly the world went black as Thorald brutally bashed Fehn on the head, knocking her out. He caught her slight frame before it struck the stone floor and cradled her ghastly weightless body and wept. For with her like this he had lost his one and only link to sanity, without her he could not imagine bringing in yet another miserable day. Silently and pitifully, Thorald held her close and smoothed down her long black hair. With her eyes closed and her face blank he could forget the monstrous horror she had become for a moment there and remind himself that it wasn't really her. He could not deny, though, the feelings of lust he had been feeling for her. Everyday the gap between them seemed to bridge and every day she seemed a little more fond, a little more affectionate to him, or maybe he was going mad being trapped in an enclosed space with her for so long, but he had felt something for her. That's why Thorald simply refused to kill her now, even if her new seductress powers had sensed his need for her, and she used it against him, he still could not extinguish such a soul. To do so would be to anger the gods and his own good conscience, for what man could kill a woman that had sat and listened to his lamentations for nigh on three months with always a word of comfort here, a hug there and not one word of complaint? Instead, always she with a smile and a reassurance for him. Without Fehn bolstering his resolve each day, Thorald seriously doubted whether or not he would survive his imprisonment.

Suddenly the Nord's head bolted up as the cell door swung open violently, splinters and hinges sprung into the darkness of the cell. Thorald did his best to shield himself and Fehn. He squinted his eyes as light flooded the room and in the doorway stood a huge man with shaggy black hair, icy blue eyes blazed in among blackened war paint and in a chokehold he held an elven guard who appeared to be limp in his arm from a broken neck.

"What the?! Who in Oblivion are you?!"

Exclaimed Thorald, and the big man scanned the scene. As soon as his eyes rested on Fehn, he dropped the dead guard and stepped forward, Thorald was suspicious and held Fehn's body tighter before backing away. The intruder held up his gloved hands and shook his head,

"Thorald...it's me."

Thorald shook his head, not looking at the man, he sank back into the shadows,

"I don't..."

His face went completely blank as in the darkness his eyes could focus more clearly now. Now he could see the intruder for who he really was, not an intruder, a saviour.

"Farkas? Is that really you, man?"

With a nod, Farkas stepped further into the cell, raking his eyes over Thorald and Fehn, Farkas sighed and grunted through gritted teeth.

"Those bastards, what have they done to you?"

Tears shone in Thorald's eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, he shook Fehn and a choked sob escaped him.

"Is she dead?"

Asked Farkas as Thorald sobbed. He watched as the man shook his head and gazed up at him,

"No...she's...she's not "dead" but...she's gone."

Farkas was confused. Scratching his head, he shrugged,

"Alright, maybe I misheard you. She's not dead, but she's gone?"

"Yes?"

"Gone where, Thorald?"

Throald shrugged,

"Where all good souls that become tainted go."

Farkas cocked his head,

"And that is?"

Thorald's eyes were tragic as he struggled to choke out the words,

"She's in Oblivion."

_Fehn felt wonderful. Her body felt as though it was floating aimlessly among the stars and worlds of Oblivion. She felt at peace here. She felt secure. Suddenly the world shifted and she landed with a great thud on a grassy hill. With a grunt she got to her feet and gazed up at the tree which stood at the head of the hill, under the tree sat a very handsome man. Although he was very good-looking, Fehn couldn't take her eyes off of the massive pair of antlers which appeared to be growing from his head._

_"Well now, you've gone done and got yourself in a fine mess, you have!"_

_He scolded her hotly. Fehn frowned,_

_"I'm sorry, do I know you?"_

_The man shrugged carelessly and patted the soft grass next to him._

_"Sit."_

_He commanded and Fehn obeyed. Sitting beside the horned man, she watched him give her a sidelong look and nod up towards the sky. Fehn followed his gaze, although it was very difficult to drag her eyes from his exquisite face._

_"Look up there, d'you see that?"_

_Fehn looked up at an inky sky, in it shone a huge full blood-red moon. With a gasp, she was transfixed. It was even more beautiful than the stranger beside her. _

_"It's magnificent."_

_She breathed and felt the man beside her shuffle,_

_"Aye it is. That's the moon you were born for, y'know?"_

_Fehn looked at him._

_"Born for?"_

_The man nodded his head,_

_"Yes indeed. That means you're mine...well, you're his now, I suppose. Well, you're actually more everyone's. But what you are, what you truly ought to be - is mine."_

_Fehn was confused as she eyed the man and cocked an eye brow at him._

_"I'm sorry, I'm not following you."_

_To her surprise the man got to his feet - well, he got to his hooves - and turned his eyes back on her. He laughed a jolly laugh when he saw her gazing most earnestly at his legs and feet, which were that of a goat's or an elk's._

_"I mostly hope that women can look past the horns and hooves and see the real me,"_

_He explained as Fehn cocked her head to look at him._

_"Having the most beautiful face in Oblivion also helps."_

_"Oblivion?"_

_Fehn picked out the word and shook her head,_

_"I'm in Oblivion?...Am I dead?!"_

_The hoofed man shrugged and clicked his tongue,_

_"Not dead, just...nearly. Not in this world, mind you. In this world you are as fit as a fiddle...funny expression that, "fit as a fiddle" don't you think?"_

_Shaking her head, Fehn ignored his offered hand and sprang to her feet,_

_"What in Oblivion d'you mean I'm in...Oblivion?!"_

_The man chuckled again and spread his hands,_

_"I mean exactly what I say. You're lucky that I keep my eye on you, I noticed you falling into his realm. But I managed to track you down and direct you towards my own little plane of purgatory."_

_Fehn watched suspiciously as he laughed and wiped a tear from his eye. _

_"Ah yes, you were so nearly in his realm, I had to go through quite a lot. Summon the dogs, give them your scent, send them out to find you. They said you were this close to falling into the clutches of a lesser hunter. But you can't beat the best, and that's what I am; the best."_

_"The best what?"_

_Fehn asked the man. Turning his eyes on her, he came closer to her and Fehn felt her knees go a little weak, he was so very, very handsome. _

_"I am the best hunter. I am the hunter. I am the hunt. I am the bow you draw, the arrow you fire. I am what makes the dear stop dead with fear. I am the luck that guides your arrow into its belly. I am the very essence of tracking. D'you not yet understand who I am?"_

_Fehn could feel her chest tighten, she'd already been way too over-exposed to unearthly things that she was not completely surprised when the man said in a cocky voice._

_"I am Hircine."_

_"Hircine?"_

_She asked, he smiled and nodded._

_"In the flesh."_

_"You're Hircine, daedric prince of the hunt?"_

_"Is that so difficult to believe? You who has had night-time visits from the Dread Lord himself? Oh, now, after all that you are skeptical. Now that is funny, and peculiar."_

_Fehn frowned and stepped back a little,_

_"The Dread Lord...you know about that?"_

_Hircine laughed again, this time throwing back his horned head and his mirth flowed out of him._

_"All of Oblivion knows, silly girl! Nocturnal is as jealous as a cat, and Molag Bal wants to enslave you for his own, but as I said. You are mine."_

_Fehn turned her head and looked out over the hill and down into the valley below. Everything had a rosy tint to it and she gasped as she saw huge, unnaturally large wolves prowl around the lush valley. _

_"What do you mean that I am yours?"_

_Fehn asked faintly and Hircine came up alongside her, with his chest pressing into her back and his chin resting on her shoulder. Fehn swayed a little as the daedric lord said into her hair,_

_"Well you're here, aren't you?"_

_Fehn's chest slowly and gently raised as she took a breath before closing her eyes and trying to draw some courage from somewhere. Turning, she felt Hircine step back and look at her raptly, _

_"Who's realm was I going to fall in to?"_

_Hircine's handsome face became very grim and Fehn inwardly shirked as the daedric lord looked past her and over his bloody valley, although red and ominous, Fehn still felt a peace she had never felt while looking over the crimson vale. She watched as Hircine exhaled and folded his tanned and muscled arms, _

_"You were very nearly at liberty in the plane of Coldharbor. I know that you Imperials do not give us daedric lords the piety we deserve, but even you must know who's clutches it was that you nearly fell into just by me telling you that name alone."_

_Fehn nodded and whispered in a terrified squeak,_

_"Molag Bal."_

_Hircine nodded and frowned,_

_"Yes, yes, old Bal was mighty angry at my plucking you from our heavens. I could feel his wrath shake my Hunting Grounds from here. He cannot enter my realm, though. This realm is for my beasts and myself."_

_"I'm not a beast!"_

_Fehn shouted as Hircine turned, a roguish twinkle in his laughing eyes,_

_"Oh, aye...so you are not. Yes, yes, you are a very different type of beast. Look at you, you marvellous chimaera! Dragonborn, a hunter of the sky all crushed in and fused into the compass of a lowly human. A vampire too no less! The hunters who walk among their own lesser copies and feed on them in the darkest times and on the blackest nights - but they are not perfect. Vampires, I mean."_

_Fehn turned her face from him and sat back down on the soft, plush grass and sighed._

_"I am a vampire?"_

_"Oh, not here. Oh, no, I would not allow such filthy things in my grounds. Never. They are the worst of the many creatures born to hunt."_

_"And why is that? Why are they not perfect?"_

_Asked Fehn, a hint of insolence in her tone and Hircine gave her a wry grin before suddenly hoisting her to her feet._

_"See down there,"_

_He said, his mouth close to her ear and his arm firmly around her waist. Fehn's feet were actually off of the ground, she gulped and gazed down the valley. The huge wolves were howling now, howling at the moon and running, frolicking with one another, all tumbling over each other. They looked content and happy._

_"Those are my creation. The most perfect hunters known to man. They are the true owners of the night, the true hunters and vampires their true prey. Actually, humans and vampires alike. Vampires are merely humans endowed with paper-thin power, not unlike enchantments. Their power can be broken by the mere light of day, but not them."_

_He said motioning with his other hand down at the wolves._

_"They are the epitome of the hunt, after myself of course. You humans shun them who have my favour, which is fair - the hunter becoming the hunted and all - but you must seek out those who have my favour and cleanse yourself of Molag Bal's dreadful curse."_

_Fehn's brow puckered and softly she turned her head towards Hircine who still held her aloft and whispered,_

_"What's Molag Bal's part in all this?"_

_She asked, the contact with Hircine making her dizzy with stolen lust._

_"Well, I'll tell ye."_

_He said brightly and dropped her abruptly breaking his hold on her. Rubbing her backside, Fehn glared at Hircine as he turned and looked at her and explained in a chipper voice,_

_"Molag Bal is "the king of vampires" pfft! Well, all of his "subjects" hide in caves and feed on scraps of human meat - filthy. Anyway, he's also the daedric lord of...well, let's just say enslavement. He wants you for his own, but he knows that you have entered into a binding contract with Sithis. When you killed the hag, Sithis would have taken you then, dragging you down, but for some reason when you killed the old one, his influence receded."_

_Fehn nodded,_

_"Yes, I was ill - dying in fact. But once I...murdered Grelod, I did feel better."_

_She finished shamefully and guilty tears gently cascaded down her face. Hircine went on,_

_"Yes, yes, you were ill. That was Sithis draining you until you had fulfilled your contract, but he couldn't take you. Something prevented him when life began to flood back into you. I tell ye why I am not afraid of Bal's wrath,"_

_Fehn nodded and Hircine dropped on one knee and gazed at her very earnestly in the eyes,_

_"We, all of us here in Oblivion. All of the daedric lords felt Sithis' terrible rage when you escaped him. Something greater than death is keeping you out there, little human."_

_Confusion gripped Fehn in its throws and she shook her head and exclaimed,_

_"Well what am I to do?! Who am I to seek out? What is it that you want from me?!"_

_Hircine smiled and flashed his brilliant white teeth and her and she felt her anger melt away merely by gazing upon his countenance,_

_"That is your quest. That is your responsibility. Have you ever heard of any of the lords doing this much for one mesely human?"_

_He demanded and Fehn shook her head,_

_"Then why are you doing it?"_

_"Because,"_

_Hircine began, his eyes lidded and looking past her,_

_"If not even Sithis can call you out Nirn, something mighty powerful wants to keep you in it. I'm more inclined to help such a being with such power. Also, the Hunting Grounds, although this is my home, I like Nirn, it's like a...second Hunting Grounds, only filled with much less...smiplicity. I'd like to keep it around for another century or so, and I believe that by helping you I can do that. We daedric lords are not all inherently evil, y'know. I am such a one."_

_Fehn's eyes locked with those of Hircine's and she nodded in agreement with him,_

_"I'd like to keep it around too. So tell me then, Lord of the Hunt, what is it that I must do?"_


	52. The Turning Tide

Chapter LII - The Turning Tide

_"Take this, little human."_

_"What is it?"_

_Fehn's fingers clasped tightly around the ring which The Lord of the Hunt had dropped into her little hand._

_"It's a ring."_

_The daedric lord stipulated vaguely and Fehn rolled her black eyes,_

_"What kind of ring is it?"_

_"Ah,"_

_The hoofed man purred as he looked down fondly at the plain gold band in Fehn's palm._

_"This ring is the Ring of Hircine. D'you know of Daedric Artifacts?"_

_Fehn nodded,_

_"Aye, well, see this; this ring. It's one of those very artifacts. Now, normally it would help out my precious lycanthropes, but since you haven't long - you may hold on to it."_

_Fehn bowed her head in thanks as Hircine gazed at her curiously._

_"Uh, thank you?"_

_"You sound confused, little human?"_

_Fehn let out a little nervous laugh,_

_"Well, it's just...I'm not a lycanthrope. I'm not one of them."_

_She said while nodding down the crimson vale at the prowling wolves that were sniffing around eagerly for food. At that Hircine chuckled and patted his rippling bare chest._

_"Oh, yes, so you are not...well did it ever occur to you that it is my ring and I may do what I like with it?"_

_Fehn's brow knotted and Hircine's grin broadened,_

_"Normally my champion - usually one of my beasts - would do me various quests and trials in order to receive my boon. Since you are neither beast, nor champion, we may as well change the rules, huh?" _

_"I guess..."_

_Fehn said unevenly while she weighed the golden band absently._

_"Since the rules are altered, so too is my boon to you. That ring there will keep your thirst for blood at bay. It is in my gift."_

_Fehn felt tears spring to her eyes, she could have hugged the Prince of the Hunt right there and then. Of all the things in this world to be transformed into, a vampire was by far the most loathed thing. When she was a child in Cyrodiil, there were always horrific tales of massacres and bloody rituals that all lead back to the night dwellers and she seriously doubted that Ulfric or anyone for that matter would take pity on her and allow her to exist as such a creature. Smiling at Hircine, Fehn slipped the ring on her second finger and immediately felt a strange surge of energy and the dulling of a certain itch at the back of her throat, almost as if her very thirst back on Nirn was receding thanks to Hircine's enchanted ring._

_"What does the ring do to them normally?"_

_Fehn asked curiously, nodding again at the wolves as she fingered the ring and admired how the bright golden band caught the light of the sanguine moon that hovered above them._

_"Normally my ring gives lycanthropes the ability to change at will. To control their transformations when they have not yet mastered their abilities. The wolf comes out at the blood-moon. When the moon shines bright like a drop of blood, the wolves rally to their master. To me. For the greatest hunt. The one who possess of the ring will not change if he or she does not wish to, but it is to snuff their master. For when I call, all beasts must come,"_

_Fehn shook her head,_

_"I don't understand..."_

_"My ring is both a gift and a curse combined. For when I call, the bests come to me. My champion should also, but if he does not, all the beasts that rally to me are whittled down to whomever is left - they have the potential to be my new champion, in place of the bearer of the ring. The one who is left shall go and retrieve the ring from the champion and if they best them, they become my new champion in place of the old one. If the old champion prevails and kills the new blood, then they are considered worthy in my eyes and they no longer need my ring. They become alpha and I depart back to my plain of Oblivion and watch over them in all their bloody endeavors."_

_Fehn dipped her head again and blinked up at Hircine,_

_"I see. Thank you, really. I mean that."_

_The daedric lord nodded and waved away her thanks, he seemed bored of the topic and rested his hands on his hips._

_"Well now, it seems you have over stayed your welcome, my un-champion,"_

_He began with a smile and a twinkle in his green eyes,_

_"You must return to your fleshy prison, I'm afraid, Dragonborn. But I assure you that we will meet again, underneath the blood-moon. Where you will choose for yourself which form you wish to be. Good luck and goodbye, little human."_

The haze lifted and Fehn felt cold creep into her bones and a rough jostling roused her from her slumber. Balling her fist, she felt Hircine's ring tight around her finger and the heaviness of a big cloak strewn over her shoulders.

"What...?"

She mumbled and felt someone stir next to her. Lifting her head, her eyes met with Farkas',

"Well, well, look who's awake. Sleep well?"

"Not particularly. May I have some water?"

Farkas scoffed and reached into his bags,

"You can have wine. You've earned it, little one."

Fehn nodded and drained the wine in the most undignified fashion. Coming up for air, she breathed huskily and turned her attention back to Farkas,

"Farkas...what in Oblivion happened back there? Where's Thorald and where are we?"

The big man took a breath before turning back to her and asking earnestly,

"You really don't remember?"

Fehn shook her head and Farkas sighed and ran his fingers through his unkempt mane of hair.

"Good thing you're sittin' down then. Thorald's dead."

The Imperial's eyes widened and tears shone in them boldly. Fehn shook her head and gaped like a fish,

"Dead?! What d'you mean dead?!"

Farkas shrugged,

"He died a Nord's death; he died fighting. When we made our escape, you and I..."

"Wait! You let him run off by himself?!"

Farkas shook his head and eyed her strangely,

"No, let me finish. He handed you over to me and dashed off, something about 'revenge for what they'd done to you'. I didn't ask questions, Thorald is...was a mighty warrior. Anyway, I told him Aela was a little further back covering me and keeping a look-out. I never saw him again. I grabbed you, caught up with Aela and she said she saw Thorald fall."

Tears slipped silently down Fehn's appalled face and she did her best to dash them before Farkas could see.

"So, uh...where's Aela now?"

"We made sure to take different carriages at Katla's Farm, she's on her way back to Whiterun to inform everyone that you're safe and to break the news about Thorald to Fralia - his mother. You and me are headed for Windhelm, turns out that Galmar Stone-Fist aint' really dead, it was a feint that went awry, you guys were never supposed to be at Morthal, something about a betrayal from the inside. Ulfric was furious and immediately sent out men to sift through the death in Morthal - and to raze it. There's nothing left of the place."

Fehn couldn't keep abreast of this new development and nearly threw up at the sudden change of fortune.

"So, Galmar's okay?"

"So they say."

Fehn's eyes dropped.

"Did they recover any other survivors from Morthal?"

She asked hopefully. She was thinking of Ralof. Farkas' brow knitted together as he thought,

"I dunno' you'll have to ask Ulfric when we get there. Vignar'll be there to greet you when we get back to Windhelm - we'll lay up there for a few days and you can get your strength back up, then we'll get back to Whiterun. Skjor's impatient that you should have your trial."

"Trial?"

Fehn queried.

"Yeah, it's basically just to prove your mettle. Dunno' who'll be your shield-sibling on the venture though. I hope it's me."

Fehn had to bite back a little smile of flattery.

"Oh, why is that?"

Farkas shrugged again and fiddled with his iron breastplate before saying in a monotone,

"You always seem to get sucked into adventure and I want in on that action."


	53. Principles and Policies

_Whoa - this was a very, very difficult chapter to write. Seriously. Although, I did have help from a song, ha. Honestly, no word of a lie - this song literally sums up, Ulfric and Fehn's relationship in this chapter - and indeed any chapter. It's weird because it's sort of a love song, but whatever. This is the song that inspired this chapter;_

**I ran away in floods of shame  
><strong>

**I'll never tell how close I came  
><strong>

**As I crossed the Holland Road  
><strong>

**Well you went left and I went right  
><strong>

**As the moon hung proud and bright  
><strong>

**You would have loved it here tonight  
><strong>

**Spin me round just to pin me down  
><strong>

**On the cover of this strange bed  
><strong>

**Spin me round just to pin me down  
><strong>

**Wrap up your questions  
><strong>

**Keep 'em down  
><strong>

**Let the water lead us home  
><strong>

**And I was sorry for what I'd done  
><strong>

**You were young I was not old  
><strong>

**But our story was not told  
><strong>

**But torn apart by greedy hands  
><strong>

**Spin me round just to pin me down  
><strong>

**On the cover of this strange bed  
><strong>

**Spin me round just to pin me down  
><strong>

**Spin me round just to pin me down  
><strong>

**I'll be gone by the night's end  
><strong>

**Spin me round just to pin me down  
><strong>

**And I'll be home in a little while  
><strong>

**Lover, I'll be home**

**Home by Mumford & Sons  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Chapter LIII - Principles and Policies<p>

The torches had guttered down to dwindling blue flames as Fehn was shown into Ulfric's private study by his steward, Jorleif. Her head bowed and her eyes downcast, she stepped further into the dimly lit room and closer towards Ulfric's moody presence.

"Stormblade, Ulfric. Returned to us from the clutches of the Thalmor."

At first Fehn thought the wide-set Jarl hadn't heard Jorleif, only a subtle wave of his hand gave any inclination that he'd heard. With a nod, Jorleif departed. Leaving Fehn and Ulfric alone in the greasy half-hot, half-cold ambience. Ulfric still did not turn to greet her. Fehn shuffled awkwardly while the Jarl continued his silent vigil out the bright window. The silence endured for another long moment before Fehn slipped around him, her eyes fell on the Jarl's hand that was resting on the windowsill; keeping himself steady. Fehn's eyes widened as she gazed upon Ulfric's haggard profile. The Jarl had never been a young man, almost certainly two scores older than her, but she had never noticed his age as much as she did at that moment.

The Jarl's face was sombre and grieved, his eyes listless and dim. His proud shoulders sagged as though he knew what she was thinking. Fehn tensed when he turned his tired eyes on her and managed to flash her a crooked smirk.

"Stormblade,"

He uttered tonelessly. Fehn watched as his roguish smirk widened almost mockingly, before bobbing his head and correcting himself with a gruff shrug,

"Fehn."

He said her name fondly and Fehn felt a pang of pure pity for him. Stepping closer, the Imperial kneeled beside him and took a shuddering breath while the Jarl gazed blandly over her dark head.

"Don't kneel for me,"

Fehn's intense gaze flicked up and locked with Ulfric's,

"I failed you."

He ended with a guilt-ridden shrug while he turned his melancholy gaze back out the window. It was a moment of such intensity that for a moment, Fehn had no idea how to deal with this new self-loathing Ulfric. Changing her approach, she got to her feet slowly, her hands before her as if they were still bound. Eyeing him, she raised her eyebrows as if she didn't much care and shrugged her shoulders,

"And you expect to run a country with this mind-set?"

His eyes were on her in a flash. Good, she thought. She wanted to light a fire in his belly and distract him from his lamentation. Ulfric's eyes were flinty as he watched her move from his side and walk slowly, deliberately around his small table by the dying fire. Boldly she took a seat - not waiting for the Jarl's invitation. He still watched her as she plucked a pastry from one of the silver platters and chomped down on it. He saw then that she was dressed in nothing but some ragged robes. Ripped and torn, they were disgraceful. Her delicate feet wrapped in mushy footwraps. She wore them, though, like a queen wears a crown or a beautiful lavish gown.

Staring at her indifferent, insolent face, Ulfric could see a change in her, just as easily as she had noticed the change in him. Bolder, more steely, a certain strength of character which hadn't been there before. Something one only gains after a hard graft with the Thalmor. It was a change in character that Ulfric recognised very well. This girl had learned how deep the festering wound of the Thalmor's cruelty and ruthlessness ran. A badly healed arm, disjointed - probably broken. Bruise on forehead, lashes clawed their cruel red and purple fingers over an exposed shoulder. All this infliction she wore as if they were naught. Her hair had grown wild and unkempt, she looked more like a homeless begger who was partial to a flogging, yet, he could relate to this battered warrior, more so than the impertinate little Legionare she had been - had _still _been - when he saw her last.

It was strange how the tables were turned; Fehn was strong and Ulfric was weak. The Jarl looked fragile, even with his mighty war axe strapped to his hip, and his powerful arms ready to swing it - he looked old and worn. Fehn on the other hand, in her rags, looked testy. Ready to hit back at those who had harmed her flesh and mind so wantonly. Ulfric did not blame her. She had finished her pastry now. Ulfric checked and saw that she was sitting there - her delicate, dark beauty blazing as she held his gaze with her black eyes. Daring him. Challenging him. Taking the Imperial's challenge, Ulfric sat opposite her and regarded her with a stern eye. He was about to speak when she cut him off rudely,

"D'you think the Moot'll favour you while you sit up in this dank room - little more than a dungeon - feeling sorry for yourself?"

He was silent.

"D'you know where I've been the last three months, my lord?"

Still Ulfric was silent and Fehn fingered Hircine's ring - an absent plea for courage - she spat venomously,

"I've been getting acquainted with the Thalmor. You know them,"

She provoked menacingly.

"They're the big ones with the yellow skin."

Ulfric's patience was waning with her insolence. She continued,

"It seems that an oath to Ulfric Stormcloak has no merit of protection, considering I had to look to my own people to save me and not my shield-siblings of your army? Tell me this, then, Ulfric, why in Oblivion should I fight and bleed for you, when you don't bother lifting a finger to help me?"

She knew she was being fool-hardy, stupid, even. Goading Ulfric Stormcloak was not what most people would deem clever. His reply was not forthcoming. His frosty silence was ominous and Fehn felt her palms go slick, her fear rising as she wondered if she'd pushed him too far. Brushing off his steely glare, she flicked her hair and preened with her mouth pursed, she turned her eyes on him and went on in a thin and demanding voice,

"And I suppose being your 'pet Dragonborn' I don't warrant an answer?"

Now she was being downright provocative, cocking an arched eyebrow at him, fear knotting in her belly at her daring.

"Pets don't normally ask."

Ulfric stipulated, a dark look in his eyes.

"Nor do they bite the hand that feeds them, Imperial."

Inwardly she smiled, one more push and she reckoned he'd crack and lift himself out of his melancholy. Obviously she knew that Ulfric must have had a hand in her rescue, after all, who was paying Farkas and Aela's fees? Ulfric, of course. Keeping her eyes locked on him, she had to fight the urge to ask after his health, but she couldn't, not until he was out of this dungeon and out of the guttering, greasy light and the fire re-entered his eyes. His brows snapped together at Fehn's barely concealed accusation of his part in her retrieval from the Thalmor.

"You were rescued from Northwatch when I was absolutely sure you will still alive, I look after my own, Imperial. You know that."

It was a good answer Fehn thought. His tone was biting - losing it's mildness. Jorleif had informed her that the Jarl had been quiet and grieved since the Morthal campaign. Ill tempered and black-spirited. Fehn would change that, she'd make his spirit burn red again. She just needed to penetrate his sombre disposition and trigger the Jarl's infamous temper, and who better to do it?

"Northwatch, is that where I was? I didn't know."

She did know.

"It had been that long..."

She looked at him squarely in the eyes, sympathy pulsating in her chest, but this had to be done. Ulfric was of no use to anyone locked away in the bleakest room of his beautiful palace guiltily brooding over his hurt pride.

"I heard Galmar's alive? If that is so, then why do you grieve? If anything, we, the poor sods you sent on that campaign should be."

That did it. Within seconds the table was flipped, scattering pastries and spilling wine.

"How dare you! How dare you reproach me! I should have you whipped for insubordination, you ungrateful little upstart!"

Fehn was on her feet now too,

"I express my thanks to those who deserve it! Not to those who see me only as a tool of war! A piece to me moved around the board!"

Her retort surprised her. Vilkas was as tangible as the floor she was standing on. She actually checked beside her to make sure that a ghost of him was not hovering there. Ulfric pointed an accusing finger at her and snarled furiously,

"By the gods, woman, don't push me! You're here alive and well because I sent word to the Companions to go and find you! If Galmar hadn't returned here battered and half-dead informing me of Thalmor sightings in that area then you'd still be at their mercy! So you've to thank your general for that an' all!"

He was riled, more so than she'd actually intended for him to get. Then again, so was she - as she always got when speaking with Ulfric, her underlining distaste for him always dominated any conversation there was to be had with him. Their argument was heating, Ulfric whipped around and turned his back on her, puffing angrily and putting his hands on his hips, he fumed - partially to himself,

"And this 'pet Dragonborn' business is getting old - you're not a pet of mine - gods know you're not a pet worth keeping! What good is a pet that does not heel?!"

He turned sharply, his eyes blazing,

"What d'you know of policy?! Of honour?! A slight-witted Imperial like you? Eh?"

He demanded baring his teeth in a brutal snarl. Fehn shrugged and shook her head, holding out her hands, she hissed vehemently,

"Policy?! Policy, Ulfric?! Let's talk about policy,"

She moved closer and Ulfric nodded for her to continue, his expression seemed bland, as if Fehn could tell him very little about policy. Fehn piped at him hotly,

"Policy is doing whatever is best for your country regardless of how you feel about it! Y'know who's got a policy?"

She demanded and he nodded again, his face was amused now, mockingly - which only inflamed her temper more,

"The Emperor! He has a good policy! A policy of acceptance for all, and y'know what he's not got, Ulfric?!"

The Jarl's eyes were bulging at her temerity of comparing him to the Emperor, Titus Mede. Fehn continued, heedless to the wicked glint in Ulfric's eye,

"He's not got civil war banging on his doorstep! He's not got folk doubting his sovereignty because he killed the last ruler, Ulfric! So don't talk to me about policy, when yours, sir, is completely broken! You let your subjects - the people who came to Windhelm and you looking for protection and a shred of compassion - sleep out on a freezing cold dock! Or-or dwell in a plague-ridden slum! "

"Skyrim is for the Nords!"

He blasted back and Fehn stopped, her anger spent and her testiness deflated for a moment. Her eyes glazed over and she smiled at him in the dimming torchlight. Bowing her head, Ulfric was heaving air into his lungs, he watched her as she let out a little breath of laughter and tears escaped her eyes and fell to the floor before she glanced back up at him and nodded,

"Aye, Ulfric. That's where your policy falls down."

The silence which hung in the air then was poignant and Fehn didn't know if he'd call the guards right there and then. As far as Ulfric could have been concerned, she'd just hurled treason right in his face and denounced him at least a dozen times in the last five minutes. That alone, speaking out of term to her liege was punishable by death, who knew better than Fehn about speaking out of term and the consequences that followed? Bowing her head again, she sniffed and turned her back and moved towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

Ulfric demanded, his anger still ablaze in his heart. Fehn stopped, her fingers gently coiled around the latch of the door,

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here, it seems that I am not welcome in this land. Maybe I'll go down to the Gray Quarter and barter a room there, or go and sleep out on the docks with the Argonians? Until you revise this policy of yours, Ulfric, until you make it more realistic - I shant fight for you. What will you do when you win this fruitless war? You'll be king? I think that's the only end you're seeing, because you cannot make all the Bretons, Redguards, Orcs, Imperials, Bosmer, Dunmer, Altmer, Argonians and Khajit that have already made a life for themselves here leave."

Slowly she turned and Ulfric saw the shimmering of tears that fell down her cheeks,

"You can't own everything. No one can. And until you see that Skyrim is home to more than just Nords, I won't be affiliated with you."

"So you're abandoning your oath?"

He snapped and Fehn frowned as a thought struck her.

"No, my lord. I'm breaking it."

And with that, she left him alone and made her way to Candlehearth Hall where she would be staying the night to find Farkas. She found the big Nord nursing an ale at the bar when she arrived, he stood up and cleared his throat,

"So?"

He inquired shortly and Fehn's head fell into her hands as she sighed and her slight shoulders slumped and sagged.

"So what? I don't think I'm a Stormcloak anymore..."

Farkas shrugged,

"No. You're a Companion."

Fehn smiled at his inability to see what she meant and nodded.

"I guess I am...Although I think Vignar'll hate me once he finds out what I said to Ulfric."

At that Farkas tensed,

"Well...what did you say?"

Fehn shrugged again and flicked her eyes over the room. It was quite empty; a writer sat at the far corner, his swan feathered quill furiously scratching at the parchment before him. At the next table over sat a bald-headed mercenary who was a wee bit worse for wear. Other than that, all there was, was the pretty serving wench, Susannah and a Dunmer bard playing the flute. Fehn returned her eyes to Farkas' earnest face,

"I said some pretty bad stuff...And I don't think I'm getting away with it."


	54. To Love on A Battlefield

Chapter LIV - To Love on a Battlefield

Pulling her hood closer, Fehn glanced sidelong at Farkas. With a curt nod, the Companion turned his back to her and kept watch as she slipped into the courtyard of the Palace of Kings. It had been four days since her audience with Ulfric and she hadn't heard from him. Not one word. Although, she was pleased to hear that the Jarl had left his private quarters, but she had also heard that his temperament was short and his mood volatile. It had taken a lot of time to pluck up her courage, but she'd finally decided that she'd go and speak to Galmar first before she spoke to anyone else. Farkas wasn't as convinced, but he was at a loathe to let her go wandering around Windhelm herself, so he had agreed to come along and make himself useful, and he wanted to see what all the fuss was about with this girl.

Flicking her gaze left and right, Fehn exhaled and watched as her breath plumed out before her and cocked an eyebrow. She was frightened to approach Galmar, his fierce loyalty to Ulfric often clouded the general's judgement, but she hoped that he would be amicable and at least tell her where she stood - that is if he had even spoken to Ulfric. She'd heard that the general was still on the mend after his near-death experience in Hjaalmarch and was layed up in the barracks. With the general abed and Ulfric in a state of woe, Fehn was amazed that after the crippling defeat in Morthal, that the whole rebellion had come to momentary halt. I was a little too hard on Ulfric. Fehn concluded as she pattered over to the large iron door which lead down to the barracks and to Galmar's own quarters.

Stealing down the dimly lit passageways, she peered around the side of the walls to make sure that no guards were about. There weren't any. Finally after a lot of twists and turns, backtracking and holding her breath as guards passed her by, she stood outside Galmar's chamber. Taking a breath, the Imperial, entered.

"Well, well. If it isn't the abandoner!"

Fehn grimaced at that strange title and gently closed the door. Bowing to Galmar, she waited until he waved her over to the stool that was at his bedside.

"Did you bring snowberries? That's the tradition?"

Fehn gazed at the general blankly. Was he joking? Suddenly a crack of laughter burst out of him and she relaxed. He was lying in a huge bed, bogged down in furs and propped up on half a dozen pillows. Without the bear pelt that usually adorned his head, Fehn could see now that his hair was dark brown and not the same gingery colour of his beard. The hair on his exposed chest was the same colour as his beard though, and his arms were covered in it. Plucking a tankard from the side, he gulped down some spiced wine and grimaced as Fehn sat down quietly and watched him intently.

"Heard about you and your honeyed words, Imperial."

He joked, chuckling into his tankard. Fehn drew back her hood with a sigh and Galmar gazed at her. He took her in quickly enough and nodded.

"Those goblins banged you up pretty well then, eh? Three months was it? Never thought you'd see the light of day again, did you? No, I bet you didn't. That bloody campaign! If only we'd kept a better check! I lost many good men in Morthal...Yourself included, Unblooded."

Fehn hadn't really been listening to Galmar prattle on, but her ears pricked when she heard that little piece of sentimentality. Gazing at Galmar, she asked quietly,

"My honeyed words? I guess Ulfric told you about the other day?"

"Aye, told me you resigned...Don't blame you. Ulfric can be a tight-lipped little upstart when he wants to be."

Fehn was positively appalled. She had never heard the general speak so about his Jarl, and Fehn felt as though he was entrapping her into agreeing with him. Without thinking, she asked blankly,

"Sir, are you drunk?"

"Completely! Of course I'm drunk, you dullard!"

Fehn dodged a clip round the ear and watched as the general sat back and sipped some more wine.

"When I'm not out and about, what else is there to do? I may as well let mine self heal at whatever pace Mara deems and drink myself into Oblivion while I wait."

Fehn nodded,

"I see."

Turning an eye on her, he cocked one of his bushy eyebrows and asked slyly,

"So, you think the Emperor's gotta' better policy than Ulfric, eh?"

Fehn shirked and Galmar chuckled again at her uncomfortableness.

"I...I was angry, of course the Empire's broken. I know that it's corrupt. I only meant that it can't be one rule for someone else and another for the majority. But it came out all..."

"Treasonous?"

Fehn glared at him as his face crinkled in a laugh.

"Wrong is what I was going to say. I meant that he can't let me stay just because I'm helping him rid Skyrim of the Empire, yet have the Argonians out on the docks, and the Dunmer in that slum. It's not fair."

Fehn jumped as Galmar pounded his tankard back down on the side and motioned her to refill his tankard for him,

"Are...you sure you should have any..."

"Don't disobey an order, Unblooded! Get it poured. For Divines sake..."

Refilling his tankard for him, Fehn passed it to him while he sat in his bed, his arms folded and huffing. He snatched the drink and drank deep. Fehn sat quietly, waiting until the general was ready. Finally he came up for air and turned his bleary eyes on her,

"So, had to sneak in here did you?"

Fehn nodded and Galmar laughed again.

"Ha! Poor girl, you'll just have to wait out the storm of Ulfric's displeasure...He'll be hurt that you didn't dissolve into a flood of tears upon seeing him again. Why did you provoke him anyway? Are you thick...Actually don't answer that."

Fehn shrugged and ignored the insult,

"Jorleif told me that he'd been in melancholy for the whole three months...I had the intention of simply raising his spirits, y'know to get him angry? But then...But then I got angry."

The general flicked his light brown eyes at Fehn and sighed, sitting up a little he frowned and grumbled,

"Blasted pillows! Here, take a few of them and put them up your shirt - you're skin and bones!"

Fehn complied and took a few pillows, leaving them at the bottom of the bed, she watched as Galmar got comfy.

"Help yourself to some of that chicken, really, Imperial, you're a bag of bones."

Fehn sighed and took some of the chicken, sitting back down she began to eat quietly while Galmar spoke,

"You and Ulfric, you're just too alike...He was like you when he was a whelp. Insolent, impertinate, all the 'I's'. A slip of a lad, gangly, all knees and elbows. He had a talent, though. His father would tell me that one day his son would go far. And I believed him. I still believe him. But Ulfric's a mite too proud. We lost a campaign, it ain't the first we've lost - it won't be the last. He thought you were dead, but I knew that the Thalmor'd been seen in Hjaalmarch. Did you get the present we sent you at Northwatch?"

Fehn frowned and shook her head while the general laughed again,

"Me! You fool! You must have got me!"

Suddenly it dawned on Fehn,

"The Nord dressed up like you? That was your doing?"

Galmar nodded,

"Aye. The first three weeks of your captivity, we dressed up one of the honoured dead...well ginger brigands as I liked to call them! We sent them to various Thalmor strongholds, finally after we sent one to Northwatch, news started bleeding out that I'd been killed. When that started circulating, we knew where you were. I'd caught wind that the Greaymane boy...Thorald? He was imprisoned there too."

Grief played on Fehn's features and she bowed her head. Whispering,

"Thorald's dead...the Thalmor killed him. He was a brilliant man - kept me going in fact."

A brief and rare look of pity crossed Galmar's gruff face and Fehn stiffened when the general absently patted her shoulder,

"We've all lost friends...Morthal..."

He trailed off as his eyes became hooded. Morthal had been such a sickening defeat, with so much bloodshed that even Galmar - a hardened veteran - found it difficult to conjure up the memory. Suddenly the general laughed and Fehn gaped at him,

"Don't look so sad, Imperial! Ulfric will forgive you - he needs you. Just as you need him."

Fehn felt a scowl darken her face,

"I don't need anyone."

Galmar mocked her by pulling a frightened face,

"Oho, no one eh? What about Hulda? Kodlak? Ralof? Oh, I think you do need folk, girl."

He shrugged and swallowed down another mouthful of wine before turning to look at her. Fehn spat,

"Are you and Ulfric against anyone who isn't a Nord?"

Galmar thought for a moment - his temper surprisingly did not barb - and he considered her question.

"I am against tyranny. The day elves dictate to me what I can and cannot do, is the day I gladly retire from this world. To be ruled by a puppet, and to bleed for an Empire that will not bleed for me."

He looked at her in the eye,

"I was once a Legionare, did you know that?"

Fehn shook her head.

"No, not many people do. Old Hulda knows, ha! That woman knows...But I am a true son of Skyrim, I learned that my beloved Empire was not the great golden cosmopolitan haven I had blindly believed, but a skeever hole that was rotting to the core. We, all of us, found out the hard way. Before the Great War, we old dogs of war knew that the Empire was remiss."

Fehn nodded as she listened to the general's voice, his eyes became distant as he thought back through all those years ago. When he had been a young man,

"Hulda's a true Nord...but her parents, well...Her parents were not worthy to be hers. She wanted to fight in the Great War - her parents wouldn't have it. D'you know what that foolhardy girl did?!"

Fehn was smiling now and shaking her head. She liked to think of Hulda as a young girl, it made sense to her that she's be a loose cannon.

"She donned a helmet, disguised herself and stole away. Came all the way down to Cyrodiil from Skyrim to do battle with the Aldmeri Dominion! But as often as the sun sets and the moon rises, fool-hardy girls aren't always the cleverest, and dreams of glory often cloud young folks minds. I had to save her arse more'n once - I can tell you! And she was beautiful...Long flowing golden-brown hair, and young."

He was veering off now, lost in his memories and Fehn could only watch as he went on thickly,

"We began to court, Hulda and I...But we were too much alike. She was fiery, buxom..."

"More buxom than you, sir?"

Fehn interjected playfully. She shrinked back when the general eyed her dangerously. He went on.

"Too fiery for each other. We parted ways. I returned to Windhelm to find the city broken and Ulfric imprisoned...Just before the Markarth Incident."

Fehn's brows clipped when she heard that again,

"Sir, what is the Markarth Incident? Balgruuf mentioned it when we took Whiterun...he said it was only a matter of time before that was known as the 'Whiterun Incident'. What happened at Markarth?"

The general sighed and lay back, weariness was apparent on his face.

"That's a story for another time, but what I meant was; you and Ulfric. Too fiery for each other. Hulda and I...we had a good run and if I hadn't been so pig-headed and she hadn't been so bloody...buxom. I'd have more to fight for than just my homeland. Don't let eachother slip just because you can't stand each other, trust me. You two need each other or you won't survive this campaign."

Fehn was confused and she could see Galmar was growing impatient with her. As he always did.

"Oh for Mara's sake! Wake up, kid! You came here to see the lay of the land here, right? My advice is to approach Ulfric when he next holds council. Only the foolish or the brave approach a Jarl without summons, and I know you are in no short supply of bravery."

She beamed and bowed her head.

"Thanks, sir."

Galmar cocked an eyebrow and looked her up and down,

"But then again; you've also got a full shipment in of foolishness too."


	55. A False Front

Chapter LV - A False Front

Fehn sighed as she stalked back to Candlehearth Hall. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her breeches, she tried to exhale some of the cold that bit into her face and body. The snows that fell were light, but were whipped around by a powerful and merciless gale. Fehn hated that. Thinking back to Galmar, Fehn was pleased that the general wasn't angry with her. As much as she tried to deny it; she did like him. He was a strong character, and a bit more realistic in his stance than Ulfric. _I am against tyranny. The day elves dictate to me what I can and cannot do is the day I gladly retire from this world_. Fehn could get behind that. Tyranny ran deep in the Empire, as her family had found out first-hand. Also after the brutality she had suffered at the hands of the Thalmor, she was now more than ready to put a dent in their vile armour.

The snow followed her inside as she puffed through the large door of Candlehearth Hall. Shaking the snow from her cape and drawing back her hood, Fehn turned to see that all eyes were on her. She shrinked and stared back at them. Suddenly the barkeep - who Fehn hadn't really bothered to get to know that well - stepped forward and said,

"You have a...visitor. In your room."

Fehn cocked an eyebrow and gazed around for Farkas. The big Nord had said that he had to go and get his blade repaired when she had emerged from the Palace of Kings and informed her that he'd be back at the inn within the hour. Fehn had nodded and watched as he swaggered off. She on the other hand had been walking around Windhelm aimlessly for awhile before the snows got too annoying. Now the barkeep was telling her she had a visitor in her room. Peculiar. With a brisk nod, Fehn gently sidled past her and made her way to the room. Upon entering her eyes fell on Ulfric Stormcloak. He didn't look up from his plate of food when she came in and instead kicked a chair out unceremoniously for her to sit. Which she did. What the devil was Ulfric doing here? Was he here to arrest her himself? To banish her? Fehn had no idea and instead, sat quietly until he had wiped his mouth and rubbed his hands together. Fehn was tense as the Jarl reached inside his breast pocket and produced a little bundle of letters. Quietly, the Jarl slid them along the smooth wooden table and took a swig of his mead. Fehn plucked the letters and looked at him confused. Impatiently the Jarl nodded for her to read while he ate. Fehn began with the first one which was unsigned, there were three letters in total. The first one read;

_Dragonborn,_

_I am disheartened to find that you deem the meaningless war that ravages Skyrim more important that your ancient duty. It seems I might be right in thinking that the gift of the Voice is wasted on you - I will however hold back this harsh criticism. The summons in which I beckoned you to find me at Volunruund still stand. I am still here, waiting to divulge extreme and important information to you. Information that - believe me - one of your calling needs. I will wait here as long as it takes, or until the dragons have ravaged this land beyond recognition - which they will undoubtebly do, if you do not step up to the plate. Trust no one, Dragonborn - especially master Ulfric, who you obviously hold in such high esteem that you are shirking your most ancient and sacred duty._

_- A friend._

Glancing up from the letter, Fehn gaped and started causing Ulfric to look up.

"D-did you read any of these, sir?"

Ulfric shook his head and finished chewing.

"No. There were delivered to me by courier this morning."

Fehn nodded and threw the first on the fire. Ulfric eyed her suspiciously. The last thing she wanted for him to see was a letter telling her not to trust him. She smiled brightly and returned to her seat and he returned to his food. The second letter was signed, it was from Hulda. Fehn felt a warmth spread through her heart as she read Hulda's neat print,

_Fehn,_

_By the gods, child! It heartens me to hear that you are alive! Kodlak came down to the inn to tell me himself, all the self-restraint it took me to only hug him tightly at the wonderful news. I hope this letter finds you well and in health, we have missed you terribly. Galmar wrote to me telling me of what may have happened to you and I felt a familiar stirring to go and get you myself. Alas, age it seems is catching up to me. Kodlak assured me that you're safe and in the company of Farkas - he's a good boy, little slow in the brains, but he'll keep you safe. Vilkas has been terribly downtrodden since your departure - he won't say it of course, but he's taken to drinking his nights away with that brigand, Torvar. I think this might have something to do with the closeness you are to his heart, child. He was delighted when he discovered you were indeed alive, I don't think he ever believed you were dead. Your room is still in keeping...I haven't had the heart to have anyone else stay there - so you are bloody robbing me too now, child, eh? Anyway, this letter's getting on and Saadia needs help spinning the spit - honestly, that girl is hardly worth her weight in gold. You'd think she was bloody royalty. I hope you return home soon, the Bannered Mare is always here for you - should you come back to Whiterun, and indeed you should and give an old woman some peace of mind._

_Talos guide you, child._

_- Hulda_

Fehn's chest swelled, and a lump had formed in her throat. _I hope you return home soon. _That little piece alone nearly made Fehn weep from the gratitude and love that she held for Hulda. Indeed, she would go back to Whiterun with its clean air and comely thatched houses, where she had friends and above all; a home. Shaking her head, she placed the letter to the side and took a breath, a smile on her face.

"Good news?"

Fehn beamed at him and nodded,

"Not news...but a good letter from a very good friend."

Exhaling, Fehn plucked the last letter from the table and her stomach dropped. All of her happiness died away in a split second and she blanched. The third letter was peppered with little bubbles - tear stains. It was from Gerdur, Ralof's brother in Riverwood.

_Fehn,_

_I don't know how to begin...We heard about Morthal, Hod and I can't seem to bring ourselves to tell Frodner about..._

A tear stain there and Fehn swallowed. Reading on,

_I'm writing to you to thank you, my brother was very...he was very fond of you. As was I, when you stayed with us all those long months ago. I hope you are well and still fighting the good fight, it's what my brother would have wanted. Fronder still wishes to fight, but now that I am feeling the loss so close to my heart, I am hoping that he'll run the mill with me...Of course, I'm joking...my brother died fighting and that's all any Nord can ask for. Ulfric wrote to me himself and told me what happened - that gladdened my heart more than anything in this world, my brother...Ralof deserved as much. I hope you will come to Riverwood and visit us again, I have some things that Ralof sent me, and a note here from him for you...He was so terribly fond of you and mentioned you a lot in his letters. I'm glad my brother had such a good shield-sister out in the field. I would extend my hand to you in thanks, you may not be a Nord, but a Nord at heart and if my brother had such a place in his heart for you, then I do too. You're always welcome here, Fehn. I hope to see you soon._

_- Gerdur_

One of Fehn's own tears joined Gerdur's. No doubt Gerdur had cried all she could for her brother, but Fehn still had unshed tears for him. In truth, she'd tried not to think of him. His dark innocent blue eyes, his bubbly laugh, it was too much. Fehn had tried to avoid entanglements after the death of her father and brother, but now she had Ralof's death at the hands of the Empire to contend with. It made her so angry. Sniffing, she wiped her eyes quickly and felt Ulfric's gaze turn on her.

"You wrote to Gerdur?"

Ulfric was confused, a frown on his face. Then he remembered with a nod and said,

"Aye, Ralof's sister. Galmar mentioned that he'd fallen...he was a good man. A damn good man. He was assigned my guard when we were ambushed by the Empire. A true Nord and very loyal. Galmar mentioned that you two were quite taken with each other."

Fehn shook her head, bitterness creeping into her tone,

"Doesn't matter now, does it? He's dead."

She bowed her head. She didn't want Ulfric to see her crying again. Her eyes darted up when she saw the Jarl was kneeling before her, her hands in his. His face was very earnest. She held Gerdur's letter in her hands tightly, hearing the delicate paper crumple,

"You will meet him again in Sovngarde. Don't despair."

Suddenly Fehn felt an overwhelming urge to cleave to him. Ducking her head, she smiled,

"You think I'm going to Sovngarde?"

He laughed then, the years stripped from his face when he did.

"Aye, 'course! Where else would a Stormcloak go, eh? No doubt, Talos will be so gladdened that Ralof fought and died for him, he'll be pouring the boy's wine himself."

The thought made Fehn smile. Looking at Ulfric, he wiped a stray tear from her eye and nodded at her.

"Then...we are friends again?"

A bark of laughter erupted from the Jarl and he got to his feet, snatching his tankard, he drank deep and sat back down.

"What, did we stop being so? Aye, then it is, we are indeed friends again. Honestly, I've never come across anyone who gets me so angry."

Fehn blushed as the Jarl went on,

"Or who tries to put me in my place as much as old Galmar. We can't best the Empire alone, you need me and I need you. But lets just try and not tred on each other's toes from now on, eh?"

Fehn bobbed her head and said,

"Yes, sir."

She averted her gaze for a moment, her hand still clasping Gerdur's letter. Putting it aside, she asked,

"Is this all you came here to do? To give me my letters?"

Ulfric stopped mid-drink and wiped his mouth again,

"No, I am simply killing two birds with one stone. I have an assignment for you."

The Imperial sat up,

"An assignment?"

"Yes, and it is one of some delicacy. Galmar has said to me before that you're strengths lie in...discretion. I need you to get some Imperial documents for me."

Fehn's brow creased,

"Imperial documents?"

Ulfric nodded again and sat forward, his big hands rubbing together,

"Aye, get the documents and bring them to the commanding officer in Whiterun. I've heard that an Imperial courier is making his way from Rorikstead to Dragonsbridge within a fortnight. Plenty of time to get to Whiterun Hold and intercept him. Get the documents and take them to Whiterun, my man will do the necessary...'adjustments' and then we send them back on their way to Dragonsbridge. Simplicity itself."

Fehn considered it for a moment before asking,

"What are the nature of these documents? If you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. I need to know what the Empire's been planning, I also need to know what they know of our own movements. We need to take the Reach, It's key. We have the Rift, Falkreath, Whiterun, the Pale, Hjaalmarch, next will be the Reach. The documents will tell me what the Imperials are planning."

With a nod, Fehn accepted and Ulfric gently patted her knee.

"Alright, I'll give you some coin and kit you out. You and your companion must be ready to leave by midnight tonight, that gives you a few hours to get everything in order. When you pull this off, we'll begin our taking of the Reach in earnest then, and I'll send word for you to come join us there."

Fehn was a little lost,

"What...what'll I do after that? While I'm waiting for word?"

Ulfric shrugged,

"Take a break. Hone your skills in Whiterun with the Companions. Do this right and you'll have earned it. Are you fighting fit to leave tonight?"

Fehn nodded.

"Good, I'll send a man down with the coin and the necessary provisions and such. Don't fail me, Stormblade - this is crucial. Talos guide you."

With a brisk nod and a pat on her shoulder, the Jarl swept out of the room.


	56. Tracking the Quarry

Chapter LVI - Tracking the Quarry

The darkness hung over them like a cloak of black velvet, the sky was bereft of all things, save for the two moons which cast a rosy hue over their surroundings. A journey with Farkas, it turned out was very different from a journey with Vilkas. When travelling with the older twin, Fehn and Vilkas had padded out their days with just that; travelling. No chatter, or banter. Nothing but ploughing on and remaining steadfast to get to their destination. Farkas on the other hand spoke of the comings and goings of Whiterun, filled Fehn in on the gossip, who was courting who, which family held allegiance to whomever. That sort of thing. When they broke for camp, Fehn expected to tie up the horses and sit and eat some breakfast, dinner or lunch. While they did do that, Fehn was surprised when on their first day on the road, he'd tossed over to her, her borrowed iron sword. He insisted that they trained whenever they could, and when they were not doing that and riding hard towards Whiterun Hold, he would question her on battle tactics while they were on horseback. Fehn found this a much better approach and it kept her mind busy.

They started off gentle, Farkas bore in mind that she was still a little banged up from her confinement at Northwatch, so he merely battled kid-gloves with her. After a week, they had moved on to more rough stuff, ducking, rolling, dodging and parrying. Farkas swore that Fehn had improved much on their journey. Also, Fehn found it a wonder how anyone could call Farkas stupid. Of course, he was no scholar, but he had a wit of his own; cracking jokes and making observations that were indeed correct and, or insightful. He wasn't as keen as Vilkas, but Vilkas was keen to the point of sounding arrogant and pompous at the best of times, Farkas was of a more milder manner and didn't seem to mind being corrected. Fehn found him a good trainer and even she had to admit that her sword-play had come a long way under Farkas' trained eye.

Fehn hadn't spoken much of her assignment to Farkas, thinking it better that he didn't know too much. Although she was aware that Ulfric had sidled her - almost without even her knowing - into a mission for the Stormcloaks. Once she realised that she'd went back on her word and was indeed still in league with the Stormcloaks, she'd gnashed her teeth and cursed Ulfric as a snake, but she knew that he and Galmar were right. She and Ulfric were two sides of the same coin now. Whether she liked it or not. She did believe though that Ulfric had been sincere back in Windhelm. She had never heard of him going out of his way by seeking her out at Candlehearth Hall to make amends. Bringing her the letters and giving her just a shred of comfort had been as close to an apology as she'd ever get from the Jarl. Fehn did not mind and decided not to pursure her berating of Ulfric, if he chose to alleviate some of the Dunmer's suffering in Windhelm, then that'd be his choice. When she mentioned this to Farkas, he'd shrugged his big shoulders and grunted that the Mer could always leave, and that they were in no way enthralled to Ulfric. Fehn had nodded and wondered why they hadn't moved, they had a vast enough number to traverse Skyrim and ward off any attackers, strength in numbers and so forth. So why did they continue to dwell in the slum? Fehn knew why; pride. They'd rather wait it out and see a change brought on by their persistance, the Dunmer it seemed where not so different from the Nords in that stance. She doubted Ulfric had noticed this though.

When finally the swell of gray clouds broke and the crisp blue sky emerged, Fehn truly felt as though she was coming home. When they looked down the bluffs and Whiterun Hold lay just below, Fehn felt her heart soar. The golden sprawling tundra was littered with mammoths and their Giant herders. Little hamlets nestled at the edge of the roads and rivers snaked their way along the bronze coloured landscape. Fehn nodded. It was good to be back. Farkas seemed happy too, slamming his chest, he breathed,

"Ah, the air of Whiterun Hold's the clearest of anywhere."

Fehn had to agree, she was so fond of this place that she could actually see herself building a life here. With a smile, she turned and nodded for them to continue down the treacherously steep road. The rode on in silence for a few more miles and Fehn was alone with her thoughts for awhile. She hadn't mentioned another thing to Farkas, but like Vilkas, Fehn noticed that Farkas didn't really seem to sleep that much. Only brief naps during the day and they lasted for an hour at the latest. She'd only caught him sleeping once during the night and she'd watched him suspiciously for awhile before abandoning the vigil on account of her feeling a bit weird watching him while he slept. That was the first and last time she saw him sleep, almost as if he'd known she'd been watching, she hoped that he didn't. She didn't want Farkas thinking she wasn't right in the head. Never-the-less, he'd been pleasant enough and Fehn decided to drop it. Maybe they only slept so little when they were travelling?

When they were finally out in flat tundra, Fehn whooped and urged her mount on faster letting the wind sail through her hair. It actually surprised her how much she'd missed the mossy tundra of Whiterun. A guard who had been stalking along the road, grumbled about Fehn's speed, but once he saw Farkas - a known Companion - he'd bowed his head and apologised for his sureliness. After calming down, Fehn and Farkas rode beside each other and watched as Dragonreach came into view. Fehn marvelled at the structure and couldn't wait to be back within the walls of the city, to go and get an ale at the Bannered Mare and see Hulda. Suddenly, without prompting, Farkas said,

"Hey, that's where you stopped me getting smacked by that Giant's club."

Fehn followed where his finger was pointing to and smiled,

"Oh yeah..."

Farkas pulled back his hand and tightened it around the reigns of his mount and gently urged her along and cleared his throat. Something Fehn had realized he did when he was nervous,

"I never did thank you for that, did I?"

Fehn shrugged and tightened her own reigns,

"It's fine. Your training and companionship these last few weeks have been thanks enough."

She ended in a wink and Farkas cleared his throat again. Fehn laughed and spurred her horse on a little more,

"No, seriously, it's fine. Thanks anyway."

That was the last they spoke until they happened upon the stables. Farkas dismounted and gazed up at Fehn who was still mounted. His expression was unreadable, but she knew he was choking on a farewell. He wasn't being sentimental or anything, Fehn thought, but he knew how partial Fehn was to getting in trouble and disappearing. Placing a reasuring hand on his huge armoured shoulder, she said firmly,

"Don't worry, I'll only be at Rorikstead. That's not too far at all. If I don't come back within three days, assume the worst."

Farkas shook his shaggy head and retorted,

"If you don't come back in three days, Hulda and Vilkas will have my hide. Try not to die, eh?"

The Imperial laughed at his frankness and shrugged again,

"Alright, I'll try. With your training - I reckon I should be okay."

He still looked unconvinced and Fehn held out an amulet of Talos to him.

"What's this for?"

He asked, his brow furrowed. Fehn nodded towards Whiterun,

"It's for Hulda. Galmar gave it to me for her, could you make the delivery for me, please? And tell her I'll be back within three days?"

He nodded and tucked the piece under his tunic.

"Will do. Be careful, eh, Fehn? Just do what Ulfric wants and make haste home. Skjor'll be gettin' impatient and I don't like makin' him angry."

The road to Rorikstead wasn't too long, but within an hour of riding past an abundance of mountains and abandoned forts, Fehn was feeling bored. Taking a bottle of Alto out of her pouch, Fehn choked down the bitter wine and grimaced. The stuff was vile, but it kept her sharp. It was another hour before she happened upon a small farm, the guard who stood at the side of the road nodded his head and slammed his hand off his chest and greeted.

"Hail, Companion."

Night was descending when Fehn finally saw Rorikstead illuminated in the distance. It was a quaint little hamlet, mostly farms a few houses and an inn. Pulling her steed back to a trot, Fehn wandered in airily, not looking to engaged with the place. The villagers all gazed at her suspiciously as she rode through, coming to a halt at the inn. Fehn dismounted and ignored the strange looks she got and entered the Frostfruit Inn. The inn was just as quaint as the village, entering it, she was not surprised to find the little tavern empty and the barkeep standing at the bar with his chin resting on his hand.

"Well met, traveller. Welcome to the Frostfruit Inn, you can pour your own drink. Gods know that everyone else does..."

Fehn blinked and moved closer to the bar, casting a wry gaze over the empty mead hall. Had the courier already been here? She'd need to find out from this gormless fool first. Turning her most charming and engaging smile on him, she asked sweetly,

"This is a lovely inn you have here, sir...?"

"Mralki. And flattery ain't gonna' get you a free drink, Imperial."

Fehn laughed and gazed at him from under her lashes. Her father had always said she was the most incompetent courtier when they frequented the Emperor's court. It was true that Luca got all the talent with words and all Fehn got was the inane babble that managed to land her trouble. Her inability to turn a pretty phrase, which usually came out all wrong and made her sound like a complete fool. Still, she tried again and took him in; he was a big man, but it wasn't muscle. His podgy face was without emotion or character, she thought. His mouth was downturned, he looked like he'd fallen on hard times. However, Fehn hated bribery, hated extorting coin from folk and was at a loathe for any of her gold to change hands for a poxy piece of information that she could obtain at the end of a blade. With a little cough, she asked,

"Has the war affected you here in Rorikstead?"

He shrugged his fat shoulders, his inability to be engaging made her grind her teeth,

"Nah, don't get many folk passing through Rorikstead, 'tis a boring place, milady. As I'm sure you'll see. Unless you get excited over planting cabbages and carrots. The only excitement we had was when that Imperial came through, and now you..."

Fehn's eyes flashed. Leaning closer, she whispered,

"An Imperial? Well, Shor's bones...Alright, I suppose I'll have to tell you..."

If it was excitement he wanted, well then Fehn'd give it to him.

"Oh, tell me what?"

He sat up and gazed at her brightly, his attention rapt on her face.

"Listen very carefully, I need you to tell me when he was here and in what direction he headed, damn Imperial's been giving me the slip for a week now."

Mralki looked confused, and then a little scared.

"Well...I, I know that the Stormcloaks ran the Empire out of Whiterun Hold, but I really shouldn't say..."

Fehn shook her head and said persuasively,

"I am ashamed to say this...but that Imperial stole some valuable intelligence from me...I have to track him down before..."

"Before what?"

Asked Mralki, his brows climbing his forehead,

"Well before a dragon attacks. That document he had was very important, it had...an incantation on it that can control dragons and now it'll fall into the hands of the Empire. They could use it to raze Whiterun Hold to the ground, so, Mralki,"

She took his hands and gazed over at him, and said,

"I need you to tell me how long it's been since he left and what way he went. You're cooperation would be invaluable."

Clambering on her mount, Fehn spurred it on. Mralki had told her everything. The Imperial courier had been at Rorikstead almost two days before her and had left on his third morning of being there. So he was at least two or three days ahead of her. She'd given Mralki her own coinpurse for his information which was most of what Ulfric had given her. He'd beamed and promised not to utter a word of anything that had passed between them and if anyone asked, she was a trader come through to have a look at his wares. Fehn hoped he'd keep his word as she rode through the night to get her documents from the unwitting courier. The sun rose, pink and golden. Fehn could feel her horse tremble at the hard going pace she'd been pushing the beast to.

The travelling was gruelling, beads of sweat dripped from Fehn's horse, her own head dripping sweat, her breathing hard. Finally after two days tracking, she happened upon an abandoned camp. Sniffing around, Fehn found some food. Grilled leaks, empty pot. The quelled fire-pit was warm to the touch. Sniffing her hand, the ash smelled fresh. No horse droppings. So he was on foot, eh? That just made it easier. Fehn was gaining on her quarry and she felt an excited little flip in her stomach. Hopping back on her horse, Fehn continued on. He was less than a day ahead of her and they weren't even nearly out of Whiterun Hold. After another few hours hard riding, Fehn tugged on the reigns and brought her horse to a stop. Before them was an ominous forest, dark and desolate. Fehn could almost hear the whispers of wood spirits. No gods fearing man or woman would enter that place. He would be camped on the outskirts and go around. She knew he would have. Tying up the horse, Fehn patted its rump and fed it a sugar cube from her pocket and it happily munched on that while the Imperial scouted about for her courier.

Darkness fell and Fehn was watching the courier from high up on a branch of a pine tree. She had been watching him for an hour or two now. Her own feelings of guilt began to surface when he hummed a tune and whistled unwittingly. Unaware he was being primed for an arrow in the back of the skull. Drawing her bow, she nocked an arrow and lined up the shot.

"We drink to our youth to days come and gone..."

Beads of sweat cascaded down her head and she blinked it away. Why was this so hard? She had killed before, she had tracked a man and ended his life before.

_But you enjoyed this one._

A wicked little voice whispered in the back of her mind. No, not in the back of her mind. Right next to her.

"What?"

Fehn uttered turning her attention to the owl next to her. Did he say that? Without thinking she loosed the arrow and heard the dull thud of it connecting with the Imperial courier and his shrill cry as he went down dead. Wildly hurtling her gaze around, Fehn gasped; standing next to the body of the dead Imperial was a huge white wolf. His amber eyes beautiful and his big white tail thumped the earth behind him. His chops pulled back in a happy grin. A wolfish grin. He yipped before throwing his snout up to the heavens and releasing a gorgeous song, a song of the hunt. He was praising her Fehn realised. Bringing his head back down, his tongue lolled out ungracefully, his grin still very prominant on his feral face. Fehn cocked an eyebrow and watched it.

_Come down here, hunter! Wreak your spoils, you've tracked and stalked, now is the hour of your celebration! The quarry down, and you get the prize. _

Slowly Fehn climbed down and joined the white wolf by the dead courier. The campfire made the wolf's shadow stretch far, a big finger pointing at her. She gasped as she saw the shadow shift and take the form of a man. A man with horns on his head.

_Oho, well met again! I commend you, that was some fair shooting - and you were distracted an' all! Well done. D'you recognize me in this form? I think I'd recognize you anywhere, cub._

Silently Fehn sat cross-legged and held out a hand to the wolf who responded by placing a big paw in her hand. A wink, and a flick of his ermine ear.

"Hircine."

_Who else?_

Fehn sighed and let go of the wolf's paw. Frowning, she said ruffled,

"What are you doing here? Aren't people supposed to summon you?"

His laugh resonated throughout the camp and Fehn heard the game in the forest all scurry for cover. They knew the hunter was about. The wolf panted and it's long pink tongue flicked up and it licked it's chops. Quite pleased with himself,

_Aye, but not me! You do not summon the hunter, pet. He finds you. I see you found this fellow here. Aren't you going to plunder his game? Get what you came for?_

Fehn eyed the wolf levelly,

"Yes, but only when you tell me what you're here for?"

She finished with a smirk as the wolf lay down and rolled on to his back. Still grinning.

_Oh, I only wanted to see how you were getting on. How's that ring? Keeping the blood lust at bay?_

Fehn nodded.

_Good! Good...I see you've been seeking out those that I told you about. But you must hurry it along, it's so boring when you simply sit about a clearing talking to animals. That's actually the reason I checked in on you, the Hunting Grounds were getting...tiresome._

"I thought you came to see how I was getting on."

Fehn stipulated barbed. Hircine laughed again and the wolf growled content.

_You don't miss a thing! And it's the same thing, the very same thing. Anyway, I should go. Maybe I'll check in on you again...the Blood Moon is not so very far away. Oh, how I love the Blood Moon, it's like a whole night just for me! As if my own little plane of Oblivion wasn't enough, eh! Farewell, hunter. _

Fehn watched as the wolf got to his feet and shook himself free of bits of twig and dirt. With another wink and a flick of its tail. Hircine was gone. Fehn sighed and shook her head, fingering the Hircine's ring. With a sigh, she got to her feet and started rummaging about the dead courier's body for the documents. She gave a little purr when she found them and put them in her pouch for safe-keeping. Then spinning on her heel, she went to get her horse and make her way back to Whiterun.


	57. As Misery Swells

**A/N:**_ Whoa...Well, hello. Sorry this hasn't been updated nearly as much as I would like it to have been, but after the whole fiasco with DLC for Skyrim, I truly just fell out of love with it & my own bloody story - it's far too convoluted and annoying to go into, so let's just not! So, now that I'm finally settling back into the Skyrim bandwagon, I thought why not crack on with this ever-changing, irritating-as-hell story. Yes, I shall be continuing with this, & thanks to everyone who still messages me asking for an update, & those who stuck with it...So please, review & let me know what you think; or just to tell me what a c*nt I've been for not updating regularly, you're choice!_

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><p>Chapter LVII – As Misery Swells<p>

Rain fell on Fehn's head mercilessly soaking the willowy Imperial to the bone. She never shivered; her eyes were set dead ahead as she passed one of the moss-covered picket signs. The arrow which pointed back beyond Fehn's wake read 'Whiterun' the one which pointed to the fore read 'Riverwood'. She stopped abruptly and took a breath in the heavy gloom; the air that whooshed from her lips curled a white mist before her and she stared through it upon the small village. Fehn didn't flinch when a deer bounded across the path with only a fleeting glance back at her before he disappeared into the foliage. An eagle wheeled up above, its silhouette powerful and terrifying to all the rodents and game who dared look at the moons this night.

With a tentative step, Fehn crossed the small stone bridge which took her off of the beaten track which lead to the old watchtower and beyond that where all her trouble began, Bleak Falls Barrow. She ignored the tremble which slivered down her spine and the hum of her blood as her slightly luminous eyes caught sight of the black shadows her living eyes would never have seen. Fehn had to ball her fists to try and squeeze the mad tension that seemed to run amok when night fell; like her skin was on fire, alive for the first time it was the most exhilarating thing Fehn had ever experienced and the ordeal racked her body most nights, she hadn't slept much since Windhelm so she accepted this strange sensation which gripped her at night as a respite from the boredom of insomnia.

Her feet planted firm on the glistening stonework, Fehn's chest rose uncertainly and she wiped her brow of rainwater, drawing her hood forwards a little to remain incognito as she passed through the village. Fehn's dark eyes caught one or two familiar faces; she smiled faintly and bent down to scratch Stump's shaggy ears as the dog whimpered and wagged his tangled tail at her.

"Where's your master?"

Fehn queried quietly as Stump winked away raindrops and lapped at his chops under her gentle caress. The sound of a door creaking open made Fehn stand up and turn smoothly, her eyes flicking closed for a moment as warm light bathed her face and in the doorway stood Gerdur.

"Mara's mercy..."

She uttered and strode forward; Fehn stepped back gingerly but was bundled up in Gerdur's strong arms before she could say anything. The Nord woman completely forwent the driving rain, her gloved hands squeezed Fehn tightly and the Imperial felt herself blush, but when she heard a choked sob escape Gerdur, she ignored her own embarrassment and returned the woman's embrace.

"Ulfric assured me you hadn't been killed...He said he would find you."

"He did..."

Gerdur pulled back, the rain cascaded between both women. Fehn's black eyes darted, unwilling to meet the Nord's searching blue gaze and shrugged,

"The Thalmor tortured me...Ulfric sent in the Companions to aid and save me."

Seeing Gerdur's expression crumple, Fehn felt her heart ache for her and she gripped her hand gently,

"Gerdur, I am so sorry about Ralof...I-I tried to stop him...To make him leave, but..."

"He sent me a trunk...There were things he meant for you to have, Fehn."

Fehn frowned,

"What things?"

"I don't know," Gerdur confessed with a shrug. "But there's a note with your name..."

The blond haired woman's eyes grew wet despite the rain, Fehn could see her tears and she shuffled her feet.

"By the Nine, it's late and you must have had a hard journey. Come inside..."

"No," Fehn shook her head as Gerdur tried to lead her in.

"After what happened, Gerdur...Hod will hate more than ever. Frodner's probably asleep; I don't want to wake him. I'll stay at the inn tonight and come back tomorrow when the house is quieter."

Seeing the Imperial's logic, Gerdur nodded defeated and smiled warmly.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow. Hod will be at the mill all day...I hope you find what you're looking for, Fehn."

"What?"

"Ralof's letters in the last months told me of...unsettling things happening out there. The Thalmor amassing, Ulfric's uneasiness at the Emperor's impending visit to Skyrim...Morthal..."

Her eyes dropped to the earth at their boots and Fehn had to mask her surprise at Gerdur's words; since when was the Emperor coming to Skyrim? And why hadn't Ulfric told her? She shook herself inwardly and looked at Gerdur,

"At least he had you there with him – he wanted to see you again after so long. You were very dear to him."

Unbearable pain pierced Fehn's heart and she turned quickly before Gerdur could see her face.

"I know."

She said simply, a slight crack in her voice.

"I'll be back tomorrow."

The Sleeping Giant Inn was cosy, comfortable and typical; all the patrons who patronised knew one another and it looked like every other inn that blessed Skyrim with its ale-soaked regulars. There was something different however, Fehn found as she glowered at a few drunken tradesmen from the shadowed corner; there was a Redguard man sat seemingly glowering just as steadily back at Fehn as she was at him. Their gazes remained unbroken, save for a few men blocking their views momentarily, but other than that their eyes lingered on each other indefinitely. When the barkeep, Orgnar, strode past her, Fehn tapped him;

"What is it?"

The big man asked; dark shadows haunted his eyes and he looked tired. Fehn ignored his testiness in light of his fatigue and responded politely,

"What is a Redguard doing here in Riverwood?"

"Oh him, I dunno'. He's been here a couple of days. Says he's from Falkreath, or came from that ways at any rate. I get told a lot and it doesn't always sink it."

He explained and Fehn nodded;

"You see his sword?"

She hadn't and looked closer as Orgnar said quietly to her,

"That's a scimitar. The Redguards are the best swordsmen in all of Tamriel,"

"Yes, I've heard..."

"I just hope nobody starts on him. The last thing I need to be doing is mopping up blood and paying a visit to somebody's wife in the morning. Delphine will have my ass if there's another brawl."

Fehn's brow was set as she peered up at him, one dark brow arched and said stoutly,

"It's hardly your fault if the patrons get a bit rowdy. What more can you expect t an inn?"

"Hmph, I like you, stranger. Don't let Delphine hear you saying anything like that though; she may be a bit grey, but she could take you."

With that and a curt bob of his head, Orgnar left her alone and Fehn inwardly scoffed as she eyed Delphine from her shrouded corner. What could she do, really? Delphine was a short, characteristically slim Breton woman with a tanned complexion and fair hair. Unusual for someone so dark of skin to have such light hair, Fehn thought and decided that it must be more threaded with white than grey. The Breton bustled from table to table dolling out drinks and steaming plates of food; Fehn watched as the older woman made her way over to her spot, stopping short at the shadows,

"Can I get you anything more to drink?"

Fehn's dark eyes roamed the Breton from the gloom; flinty from the fire and she shook her head mutely.

"No thank you."

The Breton's eyes hovered on Fehn for a moment and the Imperial began to find her temper becoming short with the appraisal so she turned her face away, hidden behind her hood and she ignored Delphine's bright blue eyes. She didn't look back to see if the innkeeper had left, but returned her inquisitive gaze back to the Redguard man who sat eyeing her still. Fehn's irritation frayed and she felt annoyance spike within her; he was a dark skinned man – as was common among the desert-living race known as the Redguard. His eyes were like orbs of onyx, dark and gleaming in the firelight. On his head, was a cowl garment contrived of a single sheet of red silk, bundled and wrapped at the top with precision rippling through the folds, the needlework at the front above his dark brows glinted in the soft light, the cloth of gold winking at her.

From his chin he wore his beard in a neat plait, a mustachio warmed his upper lip; he looked typically Redguard in every way, Fehn observed and noted the golden rings which gleamed brazenly from smooth fingers – a man prone to wealth – he reminded Fehn of the pomp and grandeur commonly found in her homeland.

Seeing her eyes rove him, he toasted her with his tankard with a smile on his face. Fehn was shaken from her daydream and scowled at him, but his expression remained friendly and oddly knowing. Intrigued, Fehn got up and made her way through the throng of merry-makers, ignoring the bard, she roughly shoved an unseeingly intoxicated man out of her way nonchalantly and sat before the Redguard man who had sat back in his seat comfortably and was now eyeing her up and down like a man well pleased with himself.

"I wondered when you'd come over. Please, sit."

Guardedly Fehn sank into the seat opposite him, her eyes never leaving his face; up close, Fehn noticed a scar on his right cheek. The Redguard sat contentedly while she looked him over, when her eyes flicked back up to his face again he was still smiling charmingly.

"Who are you?"

Fehn asked cagily,

"Me? I'm Redguard."

The man replied evasively, his grin broadening at her annoyance.

"I asked who you are. Not what you are."

"Ah, most northerners only care for what I am. Us southerners run across this problem in abundance do we not?"

Fehn cocked her head,

"I've found them rather civil."

She lied and he chuckled with genuine mirth.

"Well then you must be the most curious Imperial in Skyrim. How does one gain these northern civilities? Please, I must ask."

"You're mocking me." Fehn accused.

"And you're lying,"

He fired back with a smirk and with a flick of his wrist took a swig of his beer.

"Imperials like you and Redguards like me do not get civility bestowed upon us here in the north. Only prejudice and sneering, harassment and ire follow us here."

"If you don't like it then why don't you leave?"

"The Nords would ask the same, my dear. The very same. But let me ask you; what is it that a man of the sun and a man of the snow would both have in common?"

Thinking a moment, Fehn peeped at him wondering what his trap would be. With a shrug she shook her head;

"No idea,"

"They both must _work_. Skyrim is a bountiful land, if you're looking for the right things."

He offered and Fehn's frown deepened,

"And what is _that_?"

"Misery, blood, war, animosity, murder, politicians and snow; it's like Cyrodiil's chilly northern mirror."

"And you're looking for those things? Why?"

"No," The man said with a shake of his head,

"I am not looking for those things; I have merely stumbled upon them here during my travels. Have you seen that Shrine of Azura?

The Imperial shook her head as the Redguard looked wistful and murmered,

"Sight to see."

"Very interesting, but why were you over there staring at me? And who are you?"

The Redguard's eyes lost none of his easiness at her unveiled impatience and he motioned with a hand,

"You're hardly uneasy on the eyes, Imperial. What's wrong with having a little gander? You looked back, did you not? I wanted your attention and now I have it – that's all."

"I see..." Fehn nodded,

"I should be leaving then, if that's all you wanted. I shan't give your eyes any more than they were due and return to my shadowed corner,"

"Ah, you speak of shadows as though you were one. Are you one with them, the shadows?"

Fehn stopped. Peering back at the Redguard, from this vantage point his eyes were muted, the glint gone; looking up at her expectantly, she backed away shaken slightly before he beamed up and said in a friendly tone.

"We know."

A chill crept over Fehn.

"We know what?"

"The shadows. We know them."

The next day Fehn emerged from the Sleeping Giant Inn in a sombre mood. Orgnar had told her at breakfast that the Redguard man had left sometime in the dead of night after the final ale bell tolled; this unsettled Fehn more than she thought it would. 'We know' those two words alone had nearly made Fehn retch upon hearing them but she pushed it from her mind as she made her way over to Gerdur's home, her heart beating rapidly with each step. She decided to slip in the back, avoiding Frodner who was playing in his front yard with Stump barking happily and chasing him around.

Quietly like a shade, Fehn made her way into Gerdur's house to find the woman sat before her fire, some sewing occupied her hands and she was weeping silently in the warmth of the flames.

"Hod does most of the work at the mill these days."

Gerdur explained to an unseen Fehn who jumped with fright to hear the Nord address her. Stepping round the woman, Fehn placed a comforting hand on Gerdur's strong shoulder,

"I spend most days looking into this fire wishing I hadn't been so happy the day my brother killed his ice wraith. Our father was a simple miller...The day my brother picked up a claymore and took his oath, our father was so proud, I can't tell you. Ralof looked up to him so much...I miss them both more than I can bear."

"You still have Hod and Frodner,"

Fehn soothed the woman, squeezing her shoulder affectionately.

"Aye, that I do and I'll have to watch my boy run off to kill Imperials and High Elves alike...and I can't stop him."

She turned to look up at Fehn's darkened face beneath her hood,

"He wants to be just like his uncle Ralof...He is so much more like him now that he's gone...I see it more, y'know?"

Fehn nodded,

"I know...Are you alright?"

"Yes," She said unsteadily getting to her feet, "Yes I'm fine. Come on, he trunk's through here."

Fehn felt her chest tighten as she was led through Gerdur's house, it felt like an age since she'd been here and Fehn felt her hand slip into the confines of her cloak and press the couriers plans to her chest for safe-keeping. She'd get her revenge for Ralof's death, and the death of her father and brother.

"Here,"

Gerdur said pointing at a little chest which was sat down by the big bed. Fehn faltered and took a ginger step inside the room when she looked back, Gerdur had gone and she heard the woman's little sniffle.

At a kneel Fehn inspected the trunk, fearing its contents; she unlatched the little wrought clasp and peered inside, her breath caught seeing her own name printed on a piece of parchment. She plucked the letter from its box and glanced at it carefully before she opened it;

It read,

_Fehn,_

_The truth is, I was going to tell you how I was feeling when we got back from Morthal...__if we get back__. I want to, really I do but my oath and your oaths is troubling me, I am a Stormcloak soldier, dedicated to freeing Skyrim from its shackles, so my family could worship and live in peace._

_If you're reading this, __then I can't have one now__...I won't say goodbye here because I don't think I will when the time comes. If you can find any good in my goodbyes then please keep it, take heart in that I believe that if anybody deserved some good it is you, Fehn, but knowing that we are heading into dangerous territory taking back Morthal, I know in my heart that I don't want to say goodbye to you._

_I never thought it would be so; an Imperial lodged so deeply in my thoughts...the gods like to tease us don't they? When we take back Morthal, Talos willing, I can rip up this note and never have to tell you...how much I came to care for you during our campaigns and travels and __how much I missed you when you weren't there__. _

_Like I said, I won't say farewell; what I will say is Talos guide you, friend._

_I wish I could tell you more and dance with you again, but I think I need to write you this – just in case. I promise if everything works out and we take back Morthal, I'll tell you myself...as I always want to in person, but..._

_Fehn, I just want you to know..._

_If the worst comes to worst, don't forget me. I never forget about you._

Fehn's hands trembled as she looked over the note; simple, a little poetic and filled with warmth; Ralof. At that thought, Fehn's eyes crinkled shut and she sobbed bitterly, her head rested up against the little trunk, its cool wood soothing her fevered brow. She could recall now so vividly his face; his blue eyes sad and knowing as he pointed past her and willed her as well as commanded her to leave him and run.

_"Go! Go now, Fehn!" _

They had been standing on a bridge that day, and Fehn had felt something for him; affection unmatched, more so towards him than any other man in Skyrim or Cyrodiil, she would have given her life to fight and die by Ralof's side. Fought his stupid rebellion instead of Ulfric's...Swore an oath to him more readily than anybody else. He was gone now though; Fehn thought as tears spilled down her face, he was dead because of the Empire.

She would never get to tell him how good a friend he had been to her, how she may have actually entertained the thought of him being more on more than a few occasions.

The Empire had taken everything from her; she swore an oath then, inside her own mind. Fehn was distracted by Gerdur as the woman stood in the doorway; her own expression mimicked Fehn's: distraught. Without a word, Gerdur knelt beside Fehn and allowed the girl to wrap her arms around her and weep into her shoulder. All the Nord could do was pat Fehn's slight back and whisper soothingly until she could make out what the Imperial was repeating over and over again, her reiteration muffled by her weeping,

"I'll kill them...I'll kill them all for what they've done..."


End file.
